


There Is No God In Palmyra

by i-go-unwillingly (peopleoftherain)



Series: There Is No God In Palmyra (TINGIP) [1]
Category: Faith (Airdorf Video Game), There Is No God In Palmyra (Faith)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Exorcisms, Faith (Video Game) - Freeform, Fanfiction, Father Garcia Likes Male Manipulator Music, Gary Loves You, Gen, Heavy Angst, Horror, John Broods A Lot, Loss of Faith, Open to Interpretation, Psychological Horror, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Transphobia, mental illness innit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 34
Words: 36,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26577580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peopleoftherain/pseuds/i-go-unwillingly
Summary: What is God? Based on the horror game trilogy Faith: The Unholy Trinity.
Series: There Is No God In Palmyra (TINGIP) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933159
Comments: 125
Kudos: 46





	1. ACT ONE: A PUNCTURED BICYCLE

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THIS!!!
> 
> this story is DEFINITELY not for sensitive audiences. the game it is based off of along with this work itself is a work of horror and will contain graphic descriptions of gore, death, and other possibly triggering things. if that's not your thing, i'd advise against reading this book of TINGIP or the rest of this series. i do not take credit for any of airdorf's characters, storylines, or creations. thank you for reading, it means a lot, and thank you to @/gaysuketakahshi for the fan name for father garcia. stay safe out there everyone!!! ;)

“do you have to do it with the flash?”

the man sighed. “unfortunately yes.” this caused the boy to whimper quietly. he hated the flash, and the man knew that. “i’m sorry, but there’s nothing i can do about it, michael.” 

if only the priest could feel it like he did, michael thought to himself. he’d feel the veins in his eyes burning and be in pain, like he should. 

he had these thoughts often. he thought about killing the priest and how he’d do it; how he’d make it hurt. this notion scared the boy, but the only thing trumping it was the blunt fact that these weren’t michael’s thoughts. he didn’t want to kill him—hell, he’d never wish pain on anyone if he got a say in it—but something else inside of him did. that was the worst factor of these macabre thoughts to him. 

meanwhile, the priest prepared the camera for the documentation of michael’s case. truth be told, he hated the camera close to as much as michael did: it was loud without sound, screaming with no voice. 

“i’ll count down, then you can run.” the priest said, exasperated. michael nodded, rubbing his knuckles along the inside of his palm. “please be careful when you do, though. i know you lose control but i don’t want you hurting yourself.” 

michael thought about this and nodded slowly. he was bracing, as if preparing for a strike. to michael, of course, the flash was just about as bad as any strike. “i’ll try, f-father.”

the priest nodded. “i’m going to start counting now. keep your eyes open. one, two, three.” 

upon three, the camera flashed. michael yelped, shielding his eyes with fists and pointed fingers as the light set off like bombs in his blood vessels. it burned so badly. he wanted the dark, but his eyelids had trapped the heat inside with him. he had to go. now. get out get out get out get out go back to the dark i like the dark please michael you’re hurting us

the priest watched as michael screamed in pain and stumbled down the stairs into the basement. the photo neatly slid out of the slot for him to grab. it didn’t feel right, he concluded. he could hear michael murmuring in the basement, probably crying. he wanted to feel empathetic, but the way michael went down the stairs on all fours didn’t seem right. it didn’t even seem human. 

the priest sighed, put the camera away, and retired to his room, the developing film of horrors in hand. 

even upon first glance the photo caused confusion. when looking at the first photo taken of young michael, you’d be sure to recognize him: his hair that was so fluffy it bordered just a clump of frizz, the smiling eyes. you could practically hear his voice through it. but now his eyes were swollen and red, blood and god-knows-what leaked from them sometimes. he’d gotten pale and thin, too. extremely. the priest had forbidden poor michael from any mirrors or access to his image because he knew michael would be distraught at the sight of himself.

as he looked at the two pictures, one after the other, he sighed. michael was a human. he would always be a human no matter how bad it got. so why was he having these outlandish thoughts of putting this abomination out of its misery?

no, never mind that, he told himself as he grabbed a marker from the bedside table and wrote down ‘two weeks’ onto the margin of the most recent picture. you can fix this, rogelio. the lord will see michael in agony and pry the darkness from his eyes. surely.


	2. ROCHESTER, NY. 1985

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> go visit your uncle, joHn :-)

most people who leave rochester never really came back. it was one of those cities you had to make excuses to go to, especially with new york city on its perimeter. insignificancies made its nest in forgetful cities like this. it was only apparent. though no matter how insignificant, uncle jo’s house stayed the same to john ward.

he made his way up the steps, locking his car behind him. but when he looked out onto the driveway and noticed no dirty white pick-up, he began to frown in worry. it usually sat in the driveway, ‘catching sun’ according to uncle. however, it was getting warmer. june didn’t give time to move your cars inside the garage. it was in like a lion and out like a lamb. or was that may?

john paid it no more mind and, using the spare key, unlocked the squeaky old door. his uncle wasn’t too handy, but he thought he’d pay such a loud squeak at least some attention. he couldn’t not be home, he thought to himself as he stepped inside. his shoes were here by the door. 

john took off his shoes too and placed them at the front door by his uncle’s, breathing in the musky, quiet scent of coffee. uncle must’ve just made some for himself not too long ago, he concluded. 

“uncle?” john called. “uncle jo? it’s john.” 

he eventually wandered into the living room. it’d been a while since he’d actually been over to his uncle’s. in the last few years his uncle’s decor certainly changed a lot. he even got new couches. “i’m sure gabe wasn’t too happy about that,” john murmured to himself.

as if summoned, in trotted gabriel, carrying john’s left shoe in his jaws in a very matter-of-fact way. 

since john was only around nine or ten years old when gabriel was discovered by his uncle one night after work, he didn’t have any clear memories of gabriel when he was in his youth. come to think of it, it was difficult to fish up a mental image of what gabriel looked like before getting his ‘old man face’. he’d been old man gabey to john for most of the vivid memories. 

“gabes, no no no!” john scolded the elderly cat, who responded with a crusty yellow stare of absolute confusion. gabriel wasn’t too happy when his owner’s shoe was taken from his jaws. his display of love took him a long walk, and he didn’t like getting tired for nothing. 

“jesus bub, you can’t just take shoes.” 

the white cat responded with another confused glare, following it up with running his entire body across john’s lower leg and then settling on his foot for a little well-earned cat nap. john sighed, set his shoe down, and picked up the cat and holding him like a newborn baby: just how gabe liked it. 

“missed you, gabey-baby,” he murmured, getting a delayed meow of...some emotion. gabe wasn’t too expressive. john planted a kiss on the top of gabriel’s head and continued to look for his uncle. 

with gabriel off on his own after struggling out of his arms, curiosity led john to his old room—or what remained, it was mostly used for storage now—and shifting through his old things he’d set in here a few days before moving all the ways away to connecticut. the bed was still here, though. same with all the furniture. all in the exact same place as he had left it. good opportunities to get distracted and sift through items here, he thought to himself. 

after only a little effort, he was able to unearth a shoebox trapped under a large picture frame. he wasn’t sure what he expected to find inside, but something about it seemed familiar. probably something his uncle had put together?  
his uncle collected a lot of weird items; ornaments, dolls, old soda cans, anything he could get his hands on, really. it wasn’t exactly hoarding (of course, after looking up and surveying the many, many boxes in this room alone, he had to reassure his previous statement) but it was definitely close to crossing the line. 

“maybe it’s...” john muttered to himself, trailing off as he maneuvered the cardboard arm out of its socket and lifted. dust, collecting in the newly-exposed crevices, propelled itself out and into the air. inside he found a bunch of keys. they looked pretty old and rusted, so he assumed that his uncle had collected them. john smiled to himself. how cool. 

he carefully took a key and observed it. it was very dull: was most likely gold or yellow before the air began to settle in. it’s beautiful. 

conveniently, the key was attached to a stretched-out piece of twine, so he collected it into his pocket. he didn’t know why, exactly. he just wanted it and couldn’t explain why. 

as he turned to leave, his uncle stepped into the doorway, making him leap backwards out of terror. although he did his best to knock nothing over, he bumped his head pretty hard and got the wind thrust out of him. 

“ah, christ!” he exclaimed. uncle jo laughed.

“don’t do that! jesus!” john repeated, rubbing his aching head with his palm. 

“i could say the same for you, john! don’t give me a heart attack thinkin’ someone bust on in!”

once he was back on his feet, his uncle offered an embrace that john gladly took. “it’s good to see you again,” uncle jo murmured. john murmured his agreement. “you’ve grown. about time!” 

john laughed. “barely, barely.”

“it’s still progress. so tell me, you can’t have just wanted to come over just to see me.” 

“truthfully, it’s just that,” john admitted. he’d missed home. living all alone was lonely, as expected. there’s a point where one thinks they want to grow up and mature; to move from home is novel and exciting for anyone. but there’s also a point where one craves the sensation only provided by staying up late reading, the fear of getting caught adding an extra excitement and rebellious undertone. it’s easy to miss being a child. so maybe that was why he came back. 

“oh? you’re not just breaking in to steal gabriel back or something?” 

“nope, just here because i felt like it.” 

his uncle nodded and smiled. it made john smile, too. he liked seeing his uncle, especially happy and smiling. it was good to spend time with him.  
“hmm, okay,” john’s uncle seemed satisfied. “jesus, you look tired. i was making some coffee if you’d want some. can’t seem to remember if ya like it or not.” 

“i’ll take some, yes please.” john sat down, gabriel struggling up the couch to step all over him affectionately. “how have you been, uncle?”

“i’m good, i’m good,” uncle jo answered from the kitchen. “it’d be better if you came over more. or at least called.” 

john sighed, running his fingers through gabriel’s fur, which rippled in warmth and gratitude. “i live in connecticut. it’s a four-or-five hour drive over here. and i’m usually busy.” 

“you live all alone, john. how busy can you be?”

“busier than you’d think. i care about my job a lot.”

“oh, of course.” john heard the clicking of the coffee brewer and the growl it made as it did its job. he didn’t like the smell of pungent coffee beans much, but today it was comforting. “i never understood why a church would need a bunch of old men running around dictatin’. makes it feel more stressful.”

“jesus’s little helpers,” john joked, successfully getting a laugh out of his uncle. 

“but a priest? no, never expected that. do you want sugar or something?”

“uh, two sugars i think? yeah, that’d be enough for me.”

“okay.” uncle jo answered. “but still, continuing on, john–you’re just a regular old priest, right?” 

“that’s me.”

“so why are you busy all the time? priests only work on sundays really, right?”

john laughed to himself. “if only. i just like the church. i can’t explain it. and i like helping people.” 

“too much, apparently,” jo joked, carrying the two coffees back to the living room. “you spill and i use you as a new rug, got it?” 

“getting pissed on by a cat sounds better than anything. thanks.” 

they were quiet for a little bit, just drinking coffee and listening to the birds outside. gabriel had begun his tedious day of work: kneading the cushions of the couch with his claws. it made him look like a little baker thickening his dough. 

eventually, the cat’s day at work got too stressful; his canvas was too scratchy. it wasn’t soft and easy to dig his claws into. frustrated, gabriel jumped down from the couch and went to investigate. 

“oh, has stanley been coming around still?” 

“stanley? yeah, yeah. he showed me his birdwatchin’ things the other day.”

“that sounds nice. he’s taking care of himself, right?”

“yup.”

“and he’s helping you with your hip as well?”

“hip’s been better for a while now, actually. who would’ve thought?”

“that’s good.” 

“stanley’s a little allergic to that brat,” he gestured loosely to gabriel. “and especially with the pollen comin’ back to haunt us i told him i’ll manage for a little.”

“oh, okay,” john looked down. “i’m sorry for not coming over as much, uncle jo. i just-“

“john, it’s okay. i’m old, but i don’t need anyone worrying about me.”

“thanks,” john sighed. he really never thought about how exhausting life could be, especially when you have so many people to appease. 

“i’ll be fine. you don’t have to be somewhere today, do you?”

“father allred told me to take a day off. on a sunday.”

uncle jo laughed at this. “you got told to take a day off? good christ, how busy are you?”

john’s face went pink. “well...i do usually spend time alone! but i just-“

“i really hope you’re not in over your head. you forget you’re a person sometimes, john. you gotta start taking care of yourself.” 

“i...i know, uncle.” john trailed off, drawing patterns into his pants with his finger. 

“stay over for the night? i miss your company.”

“really? but i’m not that interesting to spend time with.” 

uncle jo raised his eyebrows. “it’d help me prepare for the nursing home, then.” 

john sighed, taking his empty cup of coffee to the kitchen. “do you need me to put these dishes away for you, uncle?” 

“just leave ‘em there, bud. i’ll get to it sometime tonight.” 

“alright. but i’m not putting you in a nursing home.”

“why not? you think i’m gonna die before then?” 

“no, no. you just..i don’t know. unless you really need it, i’m not putting you anywhere. hell, i shouldn’t be in charge of your life at all.”

“are you allowed to swear?” 

“not with the priest collar on,” john shot back in a joking retort. “but anything else i’m fine.”

“what, do they have little microphones in there?”

“you’d think...oh good lord, the window’s open.” john looked out and saw gabriel hunched over something. dread immediately overcame him. “gabriel!” 

rushing outside, he knelt down over the white figure, hoping that his worries weren’t true. unfortunately, they were. gabe’s muzzle was bloodied and browned, and a stringy piece of flesh hung from his bottom teeth. john gagged a little. “what the hell, gabriel?” he muttered, holding gabriel’s chin despite the cat’s struggles and pulling piece the flesh. the cat growled in displeasure, but toddled inside, scrabbling his way up to the open window. the priest sighed and looked at the dead thing. a vole? or a mouse? he wasn’t sure. some form of rodent. it hadn’t been dead long, thankfully. either it had died there somehow or gabriel killed it, john didn’t know. but it was pretty gross. it was missing its bottom jaw, along with its entire jugular (the piece of flesh he had to pry from gabriel’s bloody jowls had most likely been the neck. how appetizing). 

uncle jo walked out in a panic. “he killed something again?”

john looked up and nodded, feeling a little queasy. “again, you said?”

“yeah, it happened once or twice before. he’s a cat, though. i wouldn’t expect any better of him.” 

john hummed, displeased. “trashbags are still under the sink, right?”

“don’t know why i’d change them. outside garbage, please. gabriel can get into the trash.”

“damn cat,” john muttered. “he wasn’t this bad before, was he?”

“no, not at all. just fat and lazy. but now he’s fat, lazy, and a serial killer, apparently.” 

“ha ha. close the window, maybe. gabe’s getting gruesome.” 

they cleaned up the mess and retired inside to figure out how to clean up gabriel. his white fur stained easily, and right then he shared a striking, oddly-humorous semblance to an old rug that some unfortunate soul spilled grape juice on. it was possible he’d be puking up bones for the night, too. 

“i can go wash him off if you want,” john offered, picking up gabriel, who stared ahead with silent triumph. 

“he hates the water, so be careful to not let him scratch ya, okay?”

“yeah, i got you.”

he closed the door and set gabriel down, his bloody, shaggy paws leaving little speckles of blood on the bathroom tile. 

john sighed and ran the bath. he leaned against the tub and listened to the droning noise of the water rushing down and made eye contact with gabriel. chillingly enough, he could see a lot of different emotions in those big crusty eyes, and it was evident that gabriel was not too remorseful. to him—or his primitive instincts, moreover—the rodent was just food, except it didn’t come in a can and taste only vaguely of tuna. this was breathing, bleeding prey. something exciting. john shuddered and turned off the tap, placing gabriel inside. 

the bath was successful enough. gabriel kept trying to escape, but once he realized there was no escape he simply diverted to drinking the bath water. but finally, gabriel was clean. 

“he’s done that before, but it’s never been that bad,” uncle jo remarked. john nodded. “it’s just kinda a dead bird on your floor.” 

“gross,” john muttered, eyebrows furrowing. “i never thought he’d kill anything.”

“it started only recently. thanks for washing him, john.” 

“don’t mention it,” john sat back. “i’d like to stay longer. i miss spending time with you.”

“stay as long as you want!” uncle jo said cheerily. “i miss your company, too.” 

he smiled. being away was pretty lonely. he truly did miss his uncle’s company. maybe next year he’d be able to come around more.


	3. STERLING, CT. 1986

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> amy stans RISE UP

amy’s mother’s hands were cold and damp as she helped her daughter into the car. she’d barely been able to scrabble in, poor thing. this was the first time she’d left the house in ages. cindy wasn’t sure if it was just amy’s lack of fresh air or some other condition, but she looked horrible. her cheekbones were sinking in, her eyes looked dead, she looked like a frame of herself. 

“amy, darling?” cindy stroked her forehead, brushing the bangs away with her thumb. amy nodded weakly in acknowledgement. “let’s get you home, ok?” 

she closed the back door and clambered into the driver’s seat, sighing to herself. taking her to the doctor was probably a bad idea. they had just told her the same things everyone else had: that it was just the absence of amy’s father, or, even more common, amy was putting on too much weight and was sick because she was only a few pounds over the average. that’s what everyone told her. but why is it that this behavior only started a few weeks ago rather than when she was six, when her father had enlisted in the first place? she’d never been sick before, not like this. 

she continued to drive home, her fingernails digging into the steering wheel. amy was most likely asleep, cindy concluded. she was making the quiet whimpering noises like she usually did now. she felt bad for her daughter, but worse that bob knew nothing about this. he didn’t want to go to the middle east. he must’ve known something bad like this would happen. 

amy had recently lost her grandfather, cindy’s dad. she never really had a good relationship with him, as he was really only present around the time the twins were born and amy was entering her teens. could that be it? 

why are you questioning what could be ‘it’, goddamnit. your daughter is sick and the only help you’re providing is trying to link it to something, cindy screamed at herself silently. tears of frustration started to well in her eyes. everything was going so wrong. where was bob when she needed him?

you have to stay strong for her, cindy, she told herself. stay strong for amy and nate and jason. they need you. 

“amy, would you want me to make anything for you once we get home?” 

“no thanks,” amy muttered. “i think gary needs me to come in to volunteer. ‘wanna rest before then.” 

“ames, you can barely walk! are you sure? besides, i thought we talked about this-”

“mom, i’m seventeen,” amy retorted weakly. “i can drive. i know the home number. i’ll be fine.”

“no, amy. i told you already: that place isn’t...just- you’re not going, okay? i won’t allow it.” 

“i’m not a child!” cindy pressed her lips tightly together and closed her eyes at this, then breathed out. what little strength the poor girl had was going into this altercation. “and just say it: you think that gary’s trying to get me knocked up or something.”

“amy alexis martin!” cindy yelled, surprised. amy quieted down, shriveling back up. they were both quiet, as neither had intended something like that be uttered. cindy didn’t want to admit it, but she knew it was the truth. 

she had met gary once: amy had brought him and a few other friends from the clinic not long ago. she was lonely at the twins’s party, and cindy let her invite a friend or two to keep her company. one of these friends was gary. 

in a group of three basic-looking teenage girls all dressed up for the party, gary definitely stood out. he looked to be in his late twenties or mid-thirties (disgustingly enough, he didn’t look far-off from cindy herself) and had wavy ginger hair that draped around his face. his teeth were crooked, causing a few of his teeth to snag on his lip sometimes and expose themselves. but his eyes were definitely the strangest. such a vibrant, warm shade of brown they were almost blood-red. gary disgusted her, and she knew from the way he looked at her little girl he was not just a friend. 

“i’m sorry, mom. i-i don’t know what came over me-“

“please, amy. just be quiet. we’ll be home in about...five minutes or so, i think.”

“i miss dad.” 

“me too, but he’ll be back soon,” cindy responded, trying to make her voice as sweet as possible. amy was in pain: what kind of person would she be to yell at her sickly daughter? “and maybe by then you’ll be better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!!!!!!!!!! its birfday 2day (oct 5th) so i just wanted 2 say thank u for reading this!!! it means a lot that i can put something out there and people will?? read it??? idek why ur here but it means a lot!


	4. STERLING, CT. 1985

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i love u all :D

he got there earlier than everyone else, no matter what. he helped the one old lady with the walker up the church steps every sunday. his voice was low and quiet whenever he led mass, but it was apparent he was very passionate about each verse he read. he seems like one of the easiest people to be friends with. 

so it was strange for father garcia to be afraid to talk to him. 

he’d asked father allred about the younger-looking priest, and the elderly man’s posture completely dropped. “that one?” he responded with a throaty, dry laugh and a shaky point at the back of the priest’s head. he’d been talking to someone rather cheerfully, although what he was saying couldn’t be heard. “father ward. he scares the life out of me.” 

father garcia was taken aback. “what? why?” he looked towards father ward: his hair bounced and he learned back a little (most likely laughing in response to something the woman he was talking to said) and his eyes were wide in a friendly manner. “are we thinking of the same person?”

“i’m sure we are, father,” the older priest responded, and withdrew his finger to put back at his side. “if people were candles...i’d expect father ward to be around here.” he pantomimed a candle; tall and thin, then crushed it down to the point where his palms were near touching. “but no: still going. i could just be old but...i really don’t know how he does it.” 

“oh,” father garcia ran a hand through his hair. “he seems nice enough.”

father allred laughed again. “don’t test it. i feel like if you get him mad enough he’d pull back his skin and reveal satan himself. good luck, though.” 

to father garcia, it was easy to approach someone like john. but to john himself, it was a different story. 

father garcia wasn’t the most friendly-looking person. conventionally good-looking? sure. but from first glance, his very sharp features and mysterious, dark eyes could make anyone’s fight-or-flight kick in. so john’s sudden anxiety when a nervous father garcia approached him wasn’t unfounded. 

“oh,” john murmured under his breath. he wasn’t short, but sometimes he forgot that he wasn’t tall, either. “um..”

“hi-“ they both began simultaneously, but cut off in either embarrassment or awkward laughing before either continued. 

“u-uh...you first?” john stammered. the new priest nodded quickly and looked around shyly. 

“you are...father ward, right?”

john cleared his throat. “that i am!” he looked father garcia up and down. it was clearly apparent that this man could easily throw john into the wall if he really wanted to. it was terrifying. “d-do you...need something?”

“oh...uh...no, but...” father garcia started, looking back at father allred. he stared with an ambiguous look in his eye, but it was probable that he regretted pointing father ward out. 

“oh! yes! uh...you’re missing your collar.” 

“my collar? my- oh.” he felt his neck and, upon sensing the absence of the ‘fun little white part’ as his uncle called it, dropped his arms to his side in annoyance. “i’m stupid, sorry.” 

“no, no. it’s...it’s fine. i just-“

“yeah...i couldn’t-s-sorry again.” 

this wasn’t going anywhere, john thought, biting his lip and looking up. he must’ve left it at home, though. not a big deal, right? so it couldn’t be the reason for someone to point it out. was he about to get beat up or something? 

“so...i’m guessing you’re...new, right?”

“oh yeah! yes, i am. uh...just a couple days ago. i got here.” 

john scratched an itch forming in his eyebrow. “father allred didn’t mention you.” 

“oh, you know father allred?”

“of course i do! he’s the old looking guy who’s like-”

“-falling apart, yes!”

they laughed about this. father garcia had never noticed the small gaps between some of john’s teeth. it made him happy to think about, for some reason. 

“okay, i think we’re cool. you’re cool, moreover.” john stuck out his hand, causing father garcia to flinch a little. “first name basis? i-i’m john.” 

“oh,” father garcia shyly took john’s hand and shook it. a smile formed on his face. “i’m rogelio.”

“woah! that’s a cool name! a lot cooler than john, that’s for sure,” john took his hand back and felt a sudden rush to his face, so he awkwardly laughed again. “u-uh, i mean...it’s nice to meet you.” 

“it’s nice to meet you, too! i...i meant to mention the collar thing sooner, but by the time i got here-”

“no worries! i’m just surprised someone hadn’t mentioned it to me sooner. weird to think i didn’t notice, right?” 

“father allred said that you were forgetful sometimes, so...”

“he did? oh, that rotting sack of bones!”

rogelio laughed. “rotting sack of- isn’t that kind of rude?”

“he doesn’t care, i don’t think.” john smiled again. john was a very morbidly pleasant person. “um...so...”

“i mean, church is over. it’s only us and...a few stragglers, i guess.” 

“true. i think i gotta start cleaning up-”

“no, john!” father allred called, causing john to pause. “remember what we talked about!”

“sorry!” john called, then turned back to his conversation. “father allred and i have an agreement that i can’t be the last person to leave the church every sunday. i gotta go.”

he gathered his things up and briefly paused to wave goodbye. rogelio could barely wave back by the time john was out the door. 

father allred rolled his eyes. he had stayed to eavesdrop. those two, he thought to himself, seemed like they could get close. the way john talked to father garcia so easily unnerved him. he’d known john for almost five years now and so far a conversation between another priest that lasted only five minutes had brought more character out of him than father allred had ever seen. strange. 

the sundays were something rogelio found himself looking forward to now. john was very boisterous and fun to talk with. he always struck good conversation, even when he ultimately found his own way to turn it morbid. it was some of the first times of rogelio’s life he found himself looking forward to something.

but after saying goodbye to father allred and going to leave, he noticed john was nowhere. he’d seen him earlier, right? he wasn’t making up things? he could’ve been absolutely positive he saw john. he must’ve left. 

but he usually made it a means to go up to him personally and say goodbye. it was out-of-character. was he okay?

“hey!” 

rogelio flinched and turned around to see john, sitting by the side of the church. the building itself was separated from the neighboring houses by a clump of trees, and the speckles above from the heavy foliage created a pretty thick shadow to hide in. even in the morning light, rogelio could just barely spot john sitting with his knees pressed tightly against his chest. 

the priest flashed him a toothy smile. “uh, do you have a second?” 

rogelio rolled his eyes and smiled, walking over. “i guess so.” he took a seat beside john on the steps. it was very cold there, almost damp. the wind bolted by, briskly curious in their conversation. 

“why are you out here? why not inside?”

“father allred kicked me out,” john flashed another sly smile. 

“permanently?”

“no, he was just mad i talked to you or something. i don’t think he likes you much.”

rogelio was taken aback, but it still made him laugh. “okay, why not?” 

“maybe because...you’re better-looking than him? or because your shoelaces don’t match.” 

rogelio’s face turned red and he hid it in his hands as he laughed at this (it was something he and most likely a lot of other people did when embarrassed). john was definitely more blunt and unapologetically bleak sometimes; not exactly what his appearance allows to be expected. 

“i mean, i think they’re cool,” john said, leaning forward to examine rogelio’s boots. they were combat boots, pretty cool. it’s definitely not every day you see a priest parading around in steel-toed boots. “the laces, i mean.”

“oh...uh, thank you?” 

“purple and yellow...didn’t expect those to go together.” 

“yeah it’s...something.” 

it was awkward then, but somehow both of them knew there was some connection there. they developed a schedule of meeting after church every sunday when they weren’t needed just to talk and enjoy each other’s presence. something about that spot beside the church made conversations feel more comfortable, made teasing affection feel real and special. of course, if they lingered too long they’d get discovered by a janitor and told to leave, but that was thankfully only a few times in the however long they’d meet there. but today was...softer. quieter. sweeter, almost. 

he hadn’t even noticed the quiet until john spoke again. 

“yeah...you know, nobody really talks to me. so, thanks?”

“yeah, yeah,” rogelio stuttered. the suggestion came out of nowhere; john seemed so easy to get along with. why was he saying this?

“i dunno,” john seemed to read his mind and answer the question he had within him. he drew his knees closer to his chest. “i just...yeah. sorry.” 

rogelio shook his head, and john looked over. please say something, he abruptly thought. he wanted to quiet the silence in his own head: the one telling him to fix his shirt to flatten him more or that he looked too...he didn’t know what to call it without making him uncomfortable. wrong, perhaps? like wearing the right shoe on your left foot. 

there was really no good way to describe it, but rogelio was beginning a sentence before john had collected himself to try to deduce it.

“it’s okay, john. i mean, we haven’t known each other long and i’m still more comfortable with you than most.” 

“well, thanks. me too.” 

“well, i think we should get going.” 

john shook his head quickly and smiled. “sounds good to me! i’ll see you next week!”

rogelio watched him walk away and sighed. he wondered if next week would come at this point. he hadn’t been feeling well, and it took him a lot of encouragement to just get out of bed. was he falling into the rut of depression again? 

john seemed so happy, and he made rogelio happy again, too. maybe he could learn something from john. bless his soul.


	5. STERLING, CT. 1985

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> possible tw for beginnings of spooks :0

that’s strange, john thought. something about him looked off. 

he wasn’t sure how long he felt like this. he was sure that after getting the surgery it went away, but no—his eyes still looked too big, his lips too red, his under-eyes too dark.

“god, i look terrible,” john muttered to himself. he wrapped the towel around his waist and examined himself closer.

he’d just lived with this feeling, hadn’t he? he’d gotten used to it. john shook his head. “gotten used to it or hidden it?” he questioned himself sternly. but of course, no reply. it’d be hard to reply to yourself, after all. 

what was he supposed to do today?

okay, get dressed first, idiot. then go check your calendar or something. have i even marked that? 

september 16th, 1985, read the calendar. it’s a monday; nothing much happening today. a slow day, finally. 

for a second he remembered his uncle getting so excited to show him horror movies like texas chainsaw massacre and the exorcist. it filled him with a feeling of sadness. he remembered sitting next to his uncle on the couch with gabriel on his lap purring. his uncle wasn’t very invested, as he just liked ‘when they made the girl float’ but john thought the organization of the priests was the most interesting part. who would’ve known? 

suddenly, the phone rang shrilly. john jumped and walked over, confused and a bit irritated, and took it off the arm. 

“hello?”

“hello, um...is this...john ward?”

john’s heart dropped. “lisa?”

“no way!” lisa’s static-garbled voice laughed through the phone, and john smiled and leaned against the wall for better grip. he’d definitely not expected this.

“holy- holy...”

“wow! i didn’t think i’d ever talk to you again! your-your voice dropped!”

john laughed. “definitely, yeah. wait wait, let me write down your number first.”

“okay, i’m just-“

john hastily grabbed a pen and a piece of paper sitting on the kitchen counter, cursing the limited mobility the phone held him in. “it’s- it’s fine! okay, hold on let me get this down really quick-” 

...

“god it’s just- it’s been so long!” 

“it really has, yeah,” john said. he stared at his feet. “how are you, though? did you get out of palmyra?” 

“did you think i wanted to stay? no!” lisa laughed triumphantly. “nah, actually you helped me figure out how to get out of there!”

john recalled quietly the year 1975. around ten years ago, he’d shown up at his uncle’s door all the way up in rochester, drenched in rain and terrified. he’d been lucky, he thought to himself. he really didn’t tell anyone he’d decided to leave town all on his own. 

“where did you go? i- when did you go?” 

“about a year after you,” lisa said. “i packed everything up and moved to nyc.” 

“john leaned an arm against the wall. “but you told me you wanted to go back home to britian?” 

“too far. hell, it sounds hard to get up to rochester from there, especially by bus.” 

“yeah...how did you find me?” 

“your uncle actually referred me! i was visitin’ my parents and i recognized him at the store. he gave me your home number.” 

“oh, makes sense. he’s-“

“-yeah, i know,” lisa murmured, taking a breath. “but he said you went up to connecticut.” 

“sterling—don’t laugh, but...y-yeah, the church i work at-“

“church? you’re joking.” 

“nope.”

“not joking? kiddo’s working as a pastor?” 

“priest. there’s a bit of a difference. a really long story how i got there, though. started a few years ago and just...“—john gestured loose circles with his free hand—“...kinda bounced around until settling down at the one near my place about two or three years ago.”

“oh wow. that’s bonkers.” 

“yeah,” john muttered. he hoped she wouldn’t ask why. he didn’t feel like souring his conversation with what led him to make this decision. 

“wait, so you don’t run around in a police car spreading the name of the lord like in priest cop?”

“oh god, stop,” john cringed. “don’t bring kevin into this.” 

“do you still have the poster?” 

john sighed and choked back a laugh. “no,” he said, thinking about it sitting in his closet. if someone ever showed up and saw that they’d definitely question something. 

“oh! by the way, you’re up in sterling right?”

“sterling, connecticut,” john said, his voice squeaking like his uncle’s door hinges. how strange. “b-but why, why do you ask?”

“lease is ending here soon,” lisa explained. “i miss you, you know...it’s really been a while. ‘was thinking about getting a flat or a-an apartment somewhere nearby you.”

john grinned to himself. “if you can handle the change, i think there’s some things up in new haven?”

“is that far?”

“no, connecticut’s tiny,” john stated, picturing it as if on a map. it was shaped almost like a speech bubble in a comic book, which was quite funny. hard to spell too: connect-i-cut, but sounding like connet-a-ket. “you could get all the way across in two hours or so.” 

“oh wow,” lisa muttered. the area of britain that she hailed from—camden or something like that—slurred their words and talked very fast. it was hard to understand her sometimes, but his brain missed untangling whatever sentence was thrown at him by her. he loved her so much, and owed a lot to her; he’d only begun to forget that. “yeah, new haven. err...i’ll look into it! thank yeh.”

“sure, it’s good to hear from you.” 

“see you later then, kiddo.”

“bye,” john said cheerfully, waiting for the click of the call’s end. as soon as it came from lisa’s end, he dropped his shoulders and returned the phone to its arm. lisa. the thought of her brought the smell of cigarettes, random candy she’d give him dissolving on his tongue. her laugh ran past him, whipping past like a breeze and out the window, far away in new york. lisa was pretty much his first best friend, and the thought of possibly seeing her again was comforting. at least karen was visiting sometime soon, so he wouldn’t be lonely. 

“i sound like an old man,” he humored himself. maybe an old man could indulge once and rewatch the first priest cop movie. “the only good one,” lisa’s voice sneered in his head. maybe he’d try and find when it was on next. 

but yet again he was interrupted by the phone ringing. puzzled, he walked over and picked it up. 

“hello?” 

whispers on the other side. john squinted, trying to hear more. “hello? can you...can you speak up?” 

more whispering. john rolled his eyes and hung up. definitely some sick prank. 

yet still the whispering continued. weird. he picked it up again, then put it back. the voice still murmured. his heart dropped when he made out one word: vitae. latin. the voice was speaking latin. it kept droning on, voice growing more and more intense. john’s brain recognized pandemonium, then satani, then regnant. pandemonium regnant satani vitae.

then the phone gave a shrill ring while still unhinged from the wall and the whispering stopped once the other side, wherever it may be, hung up. john hung up too, eyebrows furrowed. he wasn’t too scared, no. just weirded out. pandemonium regnant satani vitae: what did it mean? his latin was rusty, but he knew for sure vitae meant life. he’d have to look up the rest. 

suddenly john began to laugh. it was stupid! what kind of cliche-horror-trope was happening? it wasn’t too scary to him, just a little funny. 

and so john left the room, leaving the phone behind as the voice returned to whisper the rite again.


	6. STERLING, CT. 1986

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> possible tw for gary being all weird but yeahhhhh short n sweet fun times

“hey morgan, is gary here?” amy called, shutting the door to the clinic behind her. 

“last time i checked he was, dear!” another voice responded, though not morgan’s. amy felt joy pull the invisible strings at the corner of her mouth. 

as she turned the corner and peeked behind the bookshelves to look at the reception desk, she laughed quietly to herself upon seeing the familiar red hair framing gary’s sharp face. his arms were behind his head with his nose upturned and eyes closed, looking content. upon noticing amy, he opened them. 

“good morning,”

“morning,” amy hummed. gary got only a glance of her as she walked to the back room to put her things away: she wore a pale purple sweater that was a tad too big, along with a flowy skirt that hung just above her knees like a curtain. her black flats clicked slightly against the tile floor. 

“you seem troubled,” gary called as he heard the young girl approaching again. “what’s wrong, love?” 

“nothing really,” amy responded, her voice bland. “can i have one?” she pointed at the jar of lollipops they kept for the guests. nobody was sure exactly why: who was going to want them? the aborted children? gary chuckled to himself at this thought.

“help yourself. but oh—save the cherry. i think there’s only one left, and i like those ones.”

amy carefully selected grape and unwrapped it. “grape tastes weird, like...cough syrup.” 

“at least it’s not root beer. or cotton candy. you’d think things that are good in physical form would be good in candy, too. but no.” 

amy shrugged and popped the purple sweet into her mouth. her hair began to slip in her face, getting caught in her eyelashes. gary smiled to himself. 

“but no, something’s definitely wrong. you know you can tell me if you’re upset, right?” 

“yeah. i mean, you’re the only one who listens.” 

“so, what seems to be the matter?” 

“it’s my mother: she’s mad about the party.”

“oh? why’s that?” gary murmured. 

“beats me. she’s suddenly so defensive about little things i can’t control. i’m seventeen, for christ’s sake! i have my own life!” she began to pace, and gary could tell she was becoming increasingly upset. 

“i mean, i understand that with the twins and my dad it’s hard, but if anything that should make her more dependent on me! i just- i don’t...understand.” 

“my father was like that,” gary took a breath, reaching down into the candy jar and grimacing. “actually no—quite the opposite, moreover.” gary stared dully ahead. “i grew up too fast, i’m afraid.”

“oh,” amy said, feeling a bit stupid. “i’m sorry about that,”

“no no,” gary cooed. “no, it’s fine. continue.” 

amy hesitated. she looked beautiful when she was scared, gary thought to himself. eventually, she continued on. 

“i don’t even know why,” she started slowly, “but i feel like she doesn’t want me to turn out like her or something. i get that. but it just gets on my nerves! i know-“ her long brown hair swung suddenly as she paused. “i know it sounds bad but...i wish they were gone, sometimes. all of them.” 

gary nodded slowly, meticulously. “i understand,” he said. “you are clearly more mature than they think.” 

amy blushed at this, but shook her head as if trying to clear the pink clouds from her cheeks. “huh? oh, yeah...that’s...what i’m trying to prove, at least.” she paused again before puffing out air sharply. “my dad leaves for the middle east soon, too.”

“is he in the army?” gary leaned forward. she nodded. 

“yeah, he’s been in it since i was five, i think.” 

gary nodded now, slowly. amy was so beautiful. her eyes glowed with life. she looked warm to the touch, perhaps he may even burn a fingertip. it was mania and he craved it. she was so...alone. she needed his help. i’ll help you amy i promise i will i will make you happy again and then i’ll be able to have you all to myself I LOVE YOU AMY I CAN HELP YOU I WILL SAVE YOU I WILL SAVE YOU I WILL SAVE YOU I WILL SAVE YOU


	7. STERLING, CT. 1986

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy halloween!!! thought that it’s funny a creepy chapter is going up tonight. if you are affected by religious trauma i’d reccomend skipping out on the rest of this book lol *^*

march of 1986 neared quicker than expected, especially for john and rogelio. they’d spent their days wasting away, but somehow finding time to talk to each other. soon talking sober turned to celebrating the ironic return to the church with a light of a cigarette, but it was so chilly out there was no need. the cold burned rogelio’s throat just the same. 

“it’s a wonder you’ll talk to me anymore,” he stuttered. john only shrugged in response. 

“i could say the same,” he muttered. “but hey, we have fun, right?” 

“somehow,” rogelio rested his hand on his chin. “how do you even...go early?” he said. 

“satan’s work is quick, so i gotta be quicker.”

upon noticing rogelio’s stunned expression, john dropped his posture. “i’m just kidding. i shouldn’t be sacrilegious. but uh, i think i just...do it.” 

“oh, lucky,” he then mumbled something about never finding the strength to get up (or something else along those lines) and let his arms collapse at his side. 

“really no big deal,” john said. he had gotten better at deciphering rogelio’s murmurs, even with his accent. “everyone doesn’t really acknowledge it, and i don’t mean that in a bad way,” john looked into the distance. his eyes were cloudy; he was thinking about something that would never reach the top of his throat, unsung words left to fester and fizzle away like fireworks in his head. “i mean, i miss you when you’re gone.” 

“oh?” rogelio perked up again. “you do?”

“yeah, and father allred, too,” john reached over to his left to dig into his pocket. “he’s obsessed with you! and i don’t mean in a good way this time. do you have a light?”

“isn’t it too cold out?” he blinked slowly. john shrugged slowly. “i’m just addicted.”

that lightened the mood a little. rogelio fished out his lighter and ignited the flame. it awakened with a spark and a tired blue hue before stretching tall and red. he watched as john hovered the cigarette, which he had let rest lightly between his lips, closer to the flame. as john pulled away, puffing the first heavy drag into the air and smiling softly, he couldn’t help but smile with him. 

“but what do you mean?” rogelio questioned him further. john looked over, a toothy grin sprouting.

“he’s always all, ‘where is father garcia? do you think he’ll show up today? he never shows up, i wonder why he skips!’”

rogelio crossed his arms as the wind ruffled his hair playfully and sent a chill down his spine. “i don’t skip too often, do i?”

“not too often.”

“but why does he care? he doesn’t even like me!”

john looked away fondly again, taking another slow and thoughtful drag. the lit end of the cigarette protested in angry ember. “father allred is a traditionalist, and you’re...different, i guess. i don’t understand what you preach, it doesn’t make sense to me.”

rogelio cocked his head. “sure it does,” he cleared his throat and now sounded very matter-of-fact. “i just want to say there’s no need for...discrimination. it’s simple.” 

john looked at him, wide-eyed, his lips slightly parted. “but no, because-“

rogelio raised his eyebrows, suddenly feeling a bit more confident. “john,” he said loosely. “doesn’t the bible say to love everyone?”

“you’ve...” john trailed off, his eyes still large with disbelief. a trail of smoke escaped his mouth, quickly snatched up and carried away by the wind. “oh.” 

“u-um, but...yeahitjustsaysthatandi reallythinkitsunfairtojudgepeoplebasedoffofthingstheycan’tcontroland-“

“i never thought about that,” john murmured to himself, suddenly hopeful. could he really be accepted without all this? no, but he’d done so much already. this wasn’t influential: deep down he always kind-of knew that it was stated, in an infamous yet forgotten phrase, “and thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” he was right, wasn’t he? no, father allred is much more experienced and wise. father garcia wasn’t confident and didn’t think about what he was saying. so why was his answer so right to him? 

“i guess i never thought about it like that,” john repeated, a bit louder. “wow.” 

“i-it’s, it’s not life-changing, but...it makes sense.” 

“it does, it does. why don’t we ever talk about it, though?” 

“n-not sure,” rogelio stammered. “but yeah, uh...i don’t really agree too much with father allred, so that’s probably why...”

john’s throat itched to say something and change the subject. he really didn’t want to think about it or admit that it made sense. he’d been taught that sinners were born to skulk among the pews of a church, soul paid to the devil, needing to REPENT. REPENT REPENT REPENT THY SINS FOR THOU ART BROKEN! SPILL THY BLOOD UNTO THE FLOOR OF THE STEEPLE HEATHEN AND MAYBE THE HOLY GHOST CAN SPARE HIS MERCY FOR YOU

“john? are you alright?”

“i-i’m fine, yeah.” john muttered, taking another heavy inhale on the cigarette and slouching. instinctively, he crossed his free arm over his chest and hung his head. “i just...i don’t want to be dramatic about this but i’ve never...thought that.”

rogelio looked confused. “it didn’t really make sense to me that people were born sinners. it’s too much to expect.”

john’s chest burned with heavy grief. he didn’t have to prove himself to the lord? he didn’t have to make up for all the sins he’d committed? it sounded too good to be true.

“you can believe what you want,” john started slowly. “but i...i don’t know, it seems too easy.”

they kind of just left it at that, and john went home. the entire drive back he thought about what he’d confessed, what he’d repented, what he’d never tell a soul. why did it affect him so much? 

upon getting home he found himself making a beeline for the bible sitting on his bedside table. carefully, he paged through, trying to convince himself that it wasn’t just a regular book; it was how he lived, how he breathed, this was his life. that couldn’t be taken away by one phrase, could it?

leviticus 22:37-39. it could. he could be free. he didn’t have to beg for forgiveness, and he didn’t have to preach to the masses that they were filthy and needed to repent. that’s right, yes. it has to be. so be it. 

he buried his head in his hands and slumped over, fighting back tears. a great smile came over his face in spite of the confusing mass of emotions in his head. father allred was a traditionalist and had made him a younger reflection of himself, one who could pass on a message of hatred when he was long gone, long since passed on and becoming the earth.   
up on the lord’s kingdom instead of burning the damnation off his flesh in hell. like he’d be.  
no. not true.  
it can’t be true because rogelio said  
ROGELIO IS UNEXPERIENCED HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT HE’S TALKING ABOUT  
YOU REMEMBER THE CLUB DON’T YOU OH YES I BET YOU DO  
DO YOU REMEMBER HOW SCARED YOU WERE JOHN? THE HORRORS YOU SAW? THEY’RE ALL BURNING NOW BECAUSE OF WHO THEY ARE AND YOU ARE ONE OF THEM AND YOU WILL ALWAYS BE ONE OF THEM YOU ABOMINATION YOU ARE OF TWISTED FLESH AND BONE THE DAMNED SON OF SATAN YES YOU ARE

john closed the bible. the dry snap of the book closing stopped the chaos behind his eyes. he’d get some sleep. no more.


	8. STERLING, CT. 1986

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i really should stop doing the flowy idgaf writing style bc itll get old fast oof ;-;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> possible tw for intrustive thoughts? i’m not rlly sure

“hello?” the voice over the phone was staticky and quiet, but it was still comforting. john sighed. 

“hi, uh...it’s me.”

“john? what’s going on? are you alright?”

“yeah, yeah i’m fine, i think,” he rubbed his eyes and lowered his head. it was quiet. almost too quiet for comfort. “i just...my uncle—i’ve told you about my uncle, right—he wrote me a letter a-and something’s wrong...with gabe.”

“his cat?” rogelio murmured. “when did the letter arrive?”

“this morning, but the date was from a few days ago. should i read it to you?” 

“um, if you want,” rogelio sniffled on the other side, and john looked at the letter in his hand. his uncle’s cursive was difficult to read in the low light, but it didn’t matter; he’d already read it at least five times over, trying to make sense of what he meant.

“so he says: ‘hi john, hope you’re doing well.’ uh...th-then it’s just some personal things, which is kinda weird, but then it goes to: ‘i know you’re usually really busy with work and stuff—or so you say—but i wanna see if you can come over here sometime soon. gabriel’s been acting weird and i’m worried he won’t be around much longer. i...’” john paused for a second to bring the letter closer to his face. “‘i’ uh... ‘i know you love him a lot and i think it’d be best if you came and spent some time with us before anything bad happens. i love you and hope you’re taking care of yourself. visit when you can.’ that’s it.” 

“oh” was all rogelio could think of saying. the click of the lighter on john’s end was the only sound. 

“and to make it worse: father allred wants to meet with me some time this week. i don’t know why or when but what if he tries to...m-meet me or whatever and i’m gone? it doesn’t make sense!”

“hey uh, i’m really sorry. that sounds horrible. i don’t know how to help, uh...”

“no, no, you don’t need to help. i’m just ranting. i mean, if you could do anything, it’d just be helpful to let me get this off my chest. so you’re helping fine, i guess.” 

“yeah...okay.” 

“but i don’t...understand it. he’s never been like this. usually if something’s wrong he’d just tell me about it ‘n deal with it on his own. nothing like this.” 

“maybe he wants just to see you?” rogelio inserted. john shrugged and jumped up on the counter, moving the letter over so as to not damage it. “i mean, you don’t see him much, right?” 

“maybe, but why make an excuse like this?” 

john could practically hear rogelio shrug through the phone. “not sure. i don’know how to help, sorry. uh, can i-”

“you don’t really have to do anything, i just...what should i do?” 

rogelio paused for a second. john flicked open the lighter again, watching the flame. it danced calmly; a waltz, almost. “i think...you should prioritize your uncle. if he’s right about gabriel, you’d want to see him.” 

john nodded, as if he expected it to be seen. he was awkward while talking on the phone, that’s for sure. he never knew what to do with himself. “you’re right, yeah. but what about-“

“father allred? he...h-he can wait,” his voice trembled, as if he were scared of saying anything negative about the elderly priest. was he that afraid of pissing him off? “i mean...he’d understand, right? it’s family.” 

it was john’s turn to pause. family. he’d always disregarded questions about his family. it was him and his uncle, and they were family, sure. but never family. their bond wasn’t that of a father and a son, no. closer to a mentor and his apprentice. it wasn’t too different from his thoughts on father allred, now that he really thought about it. and for a brief moment, john wondered how his parents were doing, wherever they were. how was megan? she’d be in high school by now, probably. wow.

“hey, uh..you’re still here, right?”

“yes. yes. yeah, i’m still on the...on the phone, sorry. yeah yeah! family! i think...i think he’ll understand. do you think so?”

“i hope so.” 

“yeah, uh...” john sighed and smiled. “who am i kidding, thank you. thank you so much. i’m...literally horrible at everything, so i didn’t want to make the wrong move or something.” 

rogelio perked up a little. “no, i don’t think you’re horrible. you’re just...trying to please everyone. i think you should just do what you think is right.” 

john’s smile grew. “i- seriously, you’re a lifesaver. thank you.” 

rogelio’s face grew hot, but somehow he was able to stammer out a reply. “o-oh um...y-yeah, anytime i mean you’d do the same for me sssoooo...” 

john laughed over the phone. “thanks again for the help, um...see you?”

“see you soon!” 

on the other end, john hung up with a click, and rogelio dropped his shoulders. he finally felt tired, thankfully. but still his mind wandered to john. he seemed in over his head and stressed. ready to snap, he thought. but john had been nothing but kind to him, even when he would freeze up and not answer questions he’d asked or something similar. he was very patient with him, usually. but just...too good. for him. he was too good. 

it’s a shame he still likes me  
i don’t know why he even bothers to associate at all  
do you think he hates me?  
wants me dead?  
probably  
no, that’s not true, rogelio  
no it could be though it really could oh i bet it is the truth  
they all probably wouldn’t care if you disappeared one day so why not?  
why not?  
why not?  
why not?  
why?  
why not?  
why not?  
why not why not why not?  
why not???  
stop it i’m tired  
i  
w  
ant  
to  
sleep  
now  
he does not hate me


	9. ROCHESTER, NY. 1986

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!HUGE TW FOR GORE!!!!  
> this is a little gross and sad so if that’s not your thing SKIP

the night air was warm as john hurried out of his car; warm but unforgiving. the moths still buzzed around the porch light furiously, no matter the climate. they’d never stop their worship for anything except death. what a sad thought. 

the door was unlocked, and he crept inside upon noticing the silence. 

“i’m here,” he said, his voice cracking a little from the tensity in his throat. hurried footsteps approached him in the dark. “oh good god, you’re here.” 

“is gabriel okay?” 

“gabe’s...i-i don’t know. i don’t know.” uncle jo let out a quick breath and whimpered. his forehead wrinkled in a specific way that told john something was horribly wrong. “he’s...so weird. weirder than normal. i mean- you know him, right? and you see him and it’s so clear–it’s so clear–this is nothing like him.”

“woah, w-wait. calm down,” john said slowly. his uncle looked at him forlornly. “you only told me it was him getting elder-crazy. not...i’m so confused.” 

“no john, please. he’s...i-i don’t know. something’s wrong with him! severely! he growls at corners, he...h-he scratches EVERYWHERE—doors, windows—b-but i’ve seen scratches on h-him too! he’s hurting himself and i-i don’t know why!” 

john stared, wanting to believe. he really wanted to, but he felt like something about it was off. to reassure himself, he pictured gabriel’s old-man face with the crust under his eyes and the permanent, fixed scowl. this was so out of character. 

“n-no, i...where is he?” 

“i-“

“uncle, where is he?” john said, a little harsher as bubbles of anxiety popped in his throat. 

“i-in the yard, i-i...the thing wanted out.” 

john felt his skin prickle, and he set off briskly towards the back door. in the low light, john could just barely see the white scratches along the door, but they were there. he looked back at his uncle, who stood back by the living room, his eyes wide. john nodded slowly and stepped outside. 

at first he didn’t see gabriel, or anything in particular. “gabes?” he said softly. he half-expected the old cat to come trotting up to him, his eyes docile and large, and rub himself against his leg. like the old times. but the old times weren’t outside in the dark, no. the old times sat in photographs, printed and hung up and cherished then forgotten about with no control over their existence. those were things out of his control, too. 

“do you have a flashlight?” jo heard his nephew call from the back step. his heart sank, but he reluctantly handed him the flashlight. it was dark out there, he thought scornfully. keep it that way. he knew that wasn’t the big-eyed kitten he found in the creek on the way home from the club. it didn’t seem like him. 

sucking in air, john clicked on the flashlight and shined it around slowly. nothing but dying grass in the moonlight. he shone it more from the steps until he heard a high-pitched moan ooze through the air. desperately, he whipped the beam of light towards the source of the sound in time to see gabriel. but it wasn’t gabe. it couldn’t be. something about him was off, uncle jo was definitely right.

the wail continued to escape from gabe’s puss-dripping mouth, vibrating slightly in his throat before releasing in raw pain. his fur was matted and missing some parts, and he walked with a limp, dark brown ooze leaking behind him like oil from a car. as he walked, his back paws pummeled at his sides furiously. john immediately attempted to rationalize it as fleas, but he knew that wasn’t the case: fleas wouldn’t tear out your back claws and leave half your digestive track exposed. eventually, gabriel stopped in the middle of the yard. his eyes glowed with rage, with agony, with sadness, with that same senile quiet he’d kept for as long as he’d lived. the glow wasn’t warm, and in his eyes john saw herself. 

then gabriel let out a howl and collapsed with a squishy thud, twitching violently. in a panic, john ran over, and his uncle followed upon noticing his frame disappear from the doorway. 

“baby! no no no no NO!” uncle jo cried. gabriel’s tail swished in agony, his eyes darted around, the whites now a light beige and leaking. he was dying. 

john looked up at his uncle and made eye contact with solemn understanding. it was something they’d never dream of doing in any other situation at all, but here it felt right. 

john nodded, and tearfully (but without hesitation), uncle jo stroked gabriel’s bloody back while john put his hands around gabriel’s neck. 

they went inside after he was out of his misery, neither able to speak or look at the other. uncle jo was only able to cry, while john could only stare with his brows furrowed. his head was too full of thought to cry about it. how did this happen? why? what? there was too much he’d never be able to understand. but gabriel still lay, sleeping with his intestines most likely attracting bugs. john felt vomit tease his throat as he thought of this. 

“he went crazy,” he muttered in disbelief. this made his uncle sob harder. why couldn’t he cry? he only felt sick and confused, not sad. 

he couldn’t stop thinking about it. it all happened so quickly: gabriel was up, gabriel was down. gabriel was alive, now he’s dead. it was so quick, so easy. a chuckle built in his chest. horrified, he pushed it down. he thought about gabe laying lifelessly im the backyard, a pool of blood and ooze and god-knows-what cradling him. disgusting. did cats go to heaven? he hoped so: gabriel deserved somewhere as beautiful as there. 

john reluctantly opened his mouth, but his uncle shut him down by slowly raising his hand. “no, i-i can’t, not n-now...” 

john looked down and nodded, pressing his lips into a tight line. his hands were covered in blood. he’d wash them, he thought to himself. 

“i’ll stay over,” john said, sounding dull. “i’ll spend the night and help us figure out what to do with...him.” 

“night.”

“goodnight, uncle,” john said, then quickly added “i love you” and left for his former room. 

after clearing some things out, he remembered the key he’d taken. he hadn’t thought about it since last year. but now it was in his mind: why did you take it, john? what about it was so special? 

he didn’t have much to sleep in, just the clothes he came in. curling up in his bed, HIS bed, made him feel like he was 16 again, returning home. as he closed his eyes he could hear his uncle call out to him to put the extra money on the counter and ask how the movie was, he’d respond it was good and summarize. then he’d go in his room and turn of the lights and enjoy himself. no worries about growing up, just boredom. no problems with anybody; the worst fight he’d had was with his parents when he left. no dead cat in the backyard, just an alive cat pawing at the door. he’d let him in soon. he’d let him sleep on the bed this time, hug him close, enjoy the warmth in his body while it lasted. it would only be a short while.


	10. STERLING, CT. 1986

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> early chapter today ^^ expect another one (fingers crossed i have the motivation)

“hello there. my name is cardinal gifford. i work with the church and...i’m here to talk to you.” 

rogelio’s eyes narrowed as he listened to the whirr in the background. “okay,” a voice whimpered back. it was young-sounding, maybe 14, 15? it sounded nervous. the whirr continued. 

“now, you’ve mentioned you see...shadow-people. correct?” 

“y-yeah,” the voice stammered. he thought he heard a sniffle, but he wasn’t sure. “they follow me.” 

“they follow you?” 

“y-yeah, um...t-they’re with me everywhere. i’ve gotten used to it, at this point, uhh...a-and they haven’t done anything to me y-yet. so...”

“can you tell if they’re...good or not?”

“i don’t know. they started...they started showing up after...”

“after the visit to your relative’s house, yes?”

“SINNER.”

it was quiet. another sniffle. the whirr continued, almost a hum now. “i-i’m sorry.” 

“that’s-that’s fine, you...it’s fine. ahem, anyways...shall we discuss the instances like that? how long have they been going on?” 

“since a few weeks ago. i-i don’t know, i can’t control them. i’ve seen the shadows since my cousin’s house, but the...t-the...” 

“are you alright?” 

the boy fell silent. the hum grew, swelling to the point where it was only audible through the crackle it produced from  
the tape. the hair on rogelio’s arm stood up. 

“you’re going to die. you’re gonna die. YOU’RE GONNA DIE! YOU’RE GONNA DIE!!! YOU’RE GONNA DIE YOU’RE GONNA DIE!!!!!!!”

rogelio gasped as father allred quickly and abruptly clicked the tape to a stop. he had a grave look in his eye. 

“i was originally entrusting father ward with this knowledge but...i doubt that he’d be able to handle it.” 

father garcia didn’t know what to think. it could’ve easily been a hoax father allred bought into, sure—possessions don’t happen. except the cardinal was there? and that sounded like it was actually him (he’d met him briefly once; a stern, short man with white hair and wrinkles running deep into his skin). it couldn’t be. “n-no, he wouldn’t.” he held himself close. “he just lost his...his uncle just lost a cat, i think.”

“i heard,” father allred looked out the window and sighed. “the rest of that tape is nonsense, but i believe it because the cardinal himself gave it to me.” 

“what did it say?”

“ramblings about someone named michelle, which i found strange. i was going to ask father ward if he knew someone with that name, but i’m sure it’s just nothing.” 

“i don’t recognize it, either,” rogelio stammered, his head feeling foggy. father allred rose to his full height. 

“it is apparent something is wrong with this child: it lines up quite well with other cases of possession we’ve reported.” 

rogelio put his head down and rubbed his temples. “jesus christ...”

“i know we don’t get along, but...i trust you. more than father ward, anyway. i trust you to be able to keep your wits about you.” 

“but father ward has done nothing but devote himself to the church.”  
father garcia responded. at this, father allred shook his head. 

“no matter how hard he works, nothing could change the fact he’d be unable to go about an exorcism.” 

father garcia narrowed his eyes. “but you think-”

“you seem more level-headed than john. besides, you wouldn’t be in any real danger.” 

eventually, rogelio nodded and agreed. father allred felt satisfied, but...he felt scared, too. he’d lied to him: this wasn’t a senile old lady who was just lashing out from dementia and labelled possessed: this was what the cardinal pronounced as a probable case of possession. he felt regret that father garcia knew not of the dangers. let him know nothing. if it gets him and whatever influence he’s trying to push onto john out of the way for now, maybe he can be helped.  
you sound like you want to kill him.  
no, i don’t want to kill him i just want to get him out of the way  
so you can make john your puppet?  
let him be free  
he doesn’t need you  
but still, something inside of him persisted that he was doing nothing wrong. he’d pray tonight. he probably needed to after hearing the tape. he’d let father garcia keep it. he needed it more than he did, he’d say. 

soon, father garcia had gone with the tape, but the feeling of heaviness still lingered on, latching itself with barbed hooked to the walls.  
you’re gonna die, you’re gonna die!  
he looked towards the old piano, sitting on its wheeled feet.  
you’re gonna die you’re gonna die!!!  
the way the sharp ebony and calm ivory intertwined was calming but alarming.  
YOU’RE GONNA DIE!!!!!!!!!!!  
the middle c pressed itself down. that key always was sticky. father allred pressed it down again, watching as it normally rose to its normal position. it was very normal.  
he released the breath he’d been holding onto and walked out the doors of the church, but he looked to the right. there was where father ward and father garcia talked after church on sundays. they’d sit there from release to around noon. doing nothing but talking. he asked himself why, and was sure they asked themselves why, too. for a second, father allred envied them and their closeness: he wanted a connection like that. are you jealous? no, i’m not. i just want to see what it’s like. 

he sat down, his back aching in the regular flares. he wasn’t getting any younger, was he? but they’re young: the don’t sit here to get younger. they sit here to know things. that’s what it is. 

it could have been the cold chill, or it could’ve been the sun sinking slowly out of sight, but for a second that lonely old man understood why john picked the shy, unaware priest over his own mentor. he felt the warmth he provided, his quiet strength. would that same strength prevail with the exorcism? probably not. you know it’s true, it won’t. 

father allred laughed to himself. he’s going to get torn apart, isn’t he? how sweet.


	11. DERBY, CT. 1986

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LMAOOO san la muerte rlly said “now it’s time to get FUNKY”
> 
> seriously check tags, we’re getting into genuinely triggering stuff. <3

click, click, click, click. 

michael watched the hands of the clock with intent. his heart pounded and sweat boiled at his pores. he felt like crying. 

tick, tick, click, ticktick, click. 

the thing in the corner looked just like the statue of san la muerte at his aunt and uncle’s house if it were twisted by the hands of nightmare. horns stuck out of the top of its hooded and cloaked head, and its eyes looked just like the eyes of a goat, rectangular pupils glaring with scorn. it wielded nothing but its hoofed hands and a pocketwatch. a wretched smell accompanied it, causing the whole room to stink of rotting meat and smoke. 

the first tear slid down michael’s cheek as the grandfather clock struck 6. he looked towards it with a whimper. it was too loud. 

BREAKITAPARTANDSTICKTHEGLASSINYOURHAND

he put his head down and covered his ears. his brain rattled around in his skull. 

“what time is it?” a whisper spoke to him. he looked up. nothing. the shadow people, he thought to himself. check your pocket watch, idiot. 

there’s a knock at the door. spot began to bark. he didn’t usually bark. 

“michael, he’s here.” 

michael’s heart dropped. 

he walked over to the door. the hallway stretched in his vision, and the door grew further and further away. it was like a carnival funhouse with all the mirrors that abused your reflection. 

he unlocked the first lock and pulled the door open. upon first looking at him, his eyes burned. there was a cross around his neck. he didn’t like it. 

“u-um,” the man stuttered. he had a slight accent that was slightly comforting to michael. he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where, but it was definitely a spanish accent. very mumbly and quiet, too. “this is the davies’ house, right?”

“yeah,” michael stammered back, looking down. the cross hurt too much to look at. he unlocked the door fully and let the man in. 

spot sauntered over immediately, his tail swinging recklessly behind him. the man reached down to pet him

DONTTOUCHHIMWITHYOURFILTHYFAGGOTHANDS

and he chuckled to himself when the dog’s wet tongue made sure to get every crevice of his hand. 

“his name is spot,” michael said, his voice more bleak than he’d hoped. “he’s a dalmatian.” 

“i see that,” the man smiled, and crouched. the dog butted his head between the man’s hands and let him pet his face. “hello, spot. my name is father garcia.” 

“he’s a dog, he can’t understand english.” 

“i know that. and you’re michael, right?” 

“mhm.” 

“i like your shirt: queen, uh, has some good music.” 

michael’s face grew hot with shame as he remembered what he was wearing: one of his dad’s band t-shirts and some sweatpants. he probably looked like a mess, but he felt uncomfortable in anything else. 

the color white was very strong to michael’s sensitive eyes, and the collar around father garcia’s neck wasn’t really helping him comprehend what father garcia actually looked like. the blinding, painful glow obscured any details, so all he knew of father garcia was his voice and his curly hair. similar to michael’s, but more loose. michael always hated his hair and how it packed and frizzed together into a clump. 

“thank you. it’s my dad’s.” 

“i see—oh, hello.” 

michael looked over, seeing his mother standing in the kitchen doorway. she had similar hair to michael’s thick coils, except they were longer and more well-maintained. she smiled at father garcia. 

HOWCANSHESEEHIMISSHEUNHOLYTOO?

“good evening.” 

“sorry, u-um..sorry for barging in, um...michael let me in.”

“it’s alright, i was expecting you, so...oh, i’m sorry, hun: my name’s sarah.” 

“sarah. my name is father garcia, but...uh, my actual name..or...you can call me...rogelio, if you, uh, want.” 

michael narrowed his eyes. he was nervous about something. 

NOHESALWAYSNERVOUSLOOK  
LOOKATHISWRISTS  
ISNTTHATINTERESTING

michael whimpered and winced. he felt pain. but seeing him laugh, no. it didn’t add up. mrs davies, noticing her son fretting, snapped him out of his trance and sent him off. 

father garcia watched him go, feeling a pit drop in his stomach. this was the same boy on the tape, wasn’t it? he didn’t look possessed. nobody looks possessed, rogelio thought to himself. 

“sorry about him, he’s...”

“i know, i...i have a tape f-from when the cardinal visited. i’m sorry t-this is so confusing, what with so many random people showing up at your door, heh.” 

“no worries: it gives me company. uh...his father, um...”

“have you told him?” 

“yeah, he knows about this now. he moved out when michael was...three, maybe.” 

“oh, i’m sorry.” 

“don’t be, it’s fine. he only really shows up when mike has his piano things, so it’s good to see him care.”

rogelio looked up. “he plays the piano?” 

“real well, yeah. he was working on some beethoven piece—a really complicated one, somethin’ about moonlight—for a few months until this whole mess happened.” 

“oh wow,” rogelio nodded. he felt panic watch him from the door. he wanted to get out and leave, never show up again. but he had to be brave. michael needed him. and besides, nothing would go wrong. “that’s really a-admirable.” 

michael watched them, tapping his foot to relieve himself of stress. he played with his fingers and picked at his skin, but nothing helped him forfeit the issues he saw when he looked at father garcia. 

there was an old saying he compared it to: something like ‘the eyes are the window to the soul’. and since his visit to his aunt and uncle’s house, he’d been able to draw back the curtains of the windows and look out into the soul. it’d been harmless at first: he used to be able to focus on one specific event and see it play through, stop when he wanted. now he could watch the stormy water of a bridge swirl, almost as if a mouth was opening up. i could jump, he thought (well, not michael: father garcia had thought. or must’ve thought). i could jump and be done with this. 

he must’ve not jumped, though. michael’s hands shook. he’s there. what were they talking about? 

“i know this is definitely...t-tough for you, but i promise i’ll do my best to make your son better.” rogelio murmured, his voice just audible. michael looked away. 

HECANMAKEHISPROMISESBUTYOUAREMINEALLMINE!!!!!!

father garcia left a few minutes later.


	12. STERLING, CT. 1986

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi!! we’re nearing danger town so check thru chapters to find the Intermission (Act 1)!!! <3

it took everything in rogelio to not fall asleep waiting for john. he was tired and erratic all the time now: most likely because of the exorcism (or exorcisms, moreover) of michael davies nearing 2 months or so, now. september the nineteenth, and they began august...twelfth? thirteenth? he could barely remember. it was a miracle he’d kept his mouth shut, too. unless...someone already knew?

no, can’t be possible. you haven’t told anyone. he looked down at himself. he looked like he’d just stepped out of a car wreck, most likely. but that’s what you like to look like. what if father allred sees me, though? i’m sure he won’t.

he fidgeted with the walkman in his hands. why am i shaking? nothing’s happened.

 _And you say it’s gonna happen “now”_ morrissey’s voice whispered in the back of his head. what a coincidence: he’d brought that with him for john.  
 _Well, when exactly do you mean?_  
that is, if he showed up. he was never late to church: why was he late now? did he forget? did he not want to see him?  
 _See, I’ve already waited too long._

“ro!”

rogelio looked up. john was approaching him, head down. “good spot! i didn’t know- this-“

he trailed off, and rogelio suddenly and sheepishly remembered what he was wearing. nothing compared to the usual, (how funny) but the patch jacket and pants along with all the spikes were most definitely too much. if he’d actually had the motivation to do his hair he was sure john would’ve died on the spot. instead, the weirdo smiled.

“can i touch the spikes? they look like-”

“they’re, uh-” he stopped talking as john leaned in to reach his hand towards the line of spikes poked through around the shoulder seam. “they’re nails, so be careful?”

“nails? so you just-”

he removed his jacket and showed the inside: how the ‘spikes’ were literally just nails poked through in a row (same with the studs on the front, except they were actual studs). john was fascinated.

“it’s really not too hard, you just-”

“what’s the ‘dead kennedys’? is it like the president kennedy or is it-”

“oh! no, no...it’s, uh...we’ll get into it at some point they’re- they’re a band i, uh, like.”

“oh, okay,” john said, still smiling. rogelio felt embarrassed.

“what now?” rogelio muttered.

“it’s cool, is all! i didn’t really think you were, like, actually punk!” john touched the back of his neck with his hand, suddenly getting quiet. “i mean, the laces definitely gave it away, but-”

“wait. john.”

“yeah?”

“you know lace code?”

john ignored the question. “what’s that?”

“it’s a walkman. are you serious?”

“i’ve only seen them in movies.”

“wow. then, uh...you are really sheltered.” rogelio fixed a sagging nail with the tip of his finger. “sorry, this is- basically falling apart.” he chuckled. “i’ve had it for a while, uh...yeah.”

john, however, was fixated on the walkman. he looked so strange in regular clothes. granite, what he wore was baggy and concealed his body (much like his priest outfit), and it seemed easy to imagine a priest collar on his dark sweater and think he looked the same. john looked up from the walkman, and rogelio looked away.

“wait! that’s a- that’s a pin of the cure!”

rogelio’s interest was caught. “you like them?”

“yeah! oh my god, yeah! it’s been a while since i’ve listened to their stuff, but i’d listen to boys don’t cry a lot back when it was newer.”

“have you heard of the smiths?”

“no, i haven’t,” john hunched over. “are they good?”

rogelio’s hands slowly picked up the walkman, separating the headphones and its cord from the actual cassette holder. john looked up, confused, and tensed as rogelio’s hands came nearer to his face.

“oh, uh...sorry.”

“fine,” john muttered. he seemed nervous about something.

rogelio slipped the headphones over john’s ears. he flinched a little, reaching his own hands up to adjust them. rogelio pulled away to mess with whatever buttons on the side, and john watched. could he hear his heart pounding? yeah. that’s weird.

guitars blared in his ears, and he flinched. rogelio instinctively put his hand near him.

“sorry!” he paused the tape.

john could definitely hear his heart beating now. of course, ‘cause you just got scared! but is it because of his hand on me? good lord.

“ok, s-sorry, i could hear that from out here, heh. are you alright?”

“i’m fine, y-yeah.”

“i got it, now. ok, this is good stuff. the cure is good, but i prefer this. it’s called _How Soon Is Now?_ ”

he clicked play.

a few measures of...what was that? guitar? john didn’t know, but-

a loud wail of guitar interrupted his thoughts, and he flinched again. he moved closer to rogelio. just by a scoot.

_I am the son and the heir  
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar  
I am the son and heir  
Of nothing in particular_

rogelio looked down at john, hunched forward. his mouth was slightly agape, and his eyes were wide. he looked absolutely awestruck. was this too much? no, this is nothing. but i mean, good start, right? starting out with actual punk rock would be catastrophic considering john’s flinch at the guitar in the intro.

_Oh, shut your mouth  
How can you say  
I go about things the wrong way?_

john’s pupils were wide as he looked back at rogelio. he smiled awkwardly, john smiled back.

he scooted closer again, and rogelio stayed still.

_I am human and i need to be loved_   
_Just like everybody else does._

what is this? what...i’ve never heard anything like this. well, i have, but it sounds nothing like the cure. nothing at all, no.

he listened to a guitar line showing off in the back. the rest continued as normal.

the first verse repeated as normal, same with the chorus. something was going to happen. what if i scoot closer?

again?

again?

i don’t think i can get much closer.

maybe. just one more.

There’s a club if you’d like to go

You could meet somebody

john looked up at rogelio suddenly and smiled a bit. rogelio looked away. was he nervous? 

Who really loves you

So you go and you stand on your own

what if i touch his hand

And you leave on your own

no that would be weird but i should comfort him oh god

And you go home and you cry

i’m gonna go for it i’m doing it okay okay here i go

_And you want to die._

“you’resittingontheuhthecord”

“huh?” john shouted. rogelio flinched a little, now. but he somehow portrayed the message with a point, as john moved over. just a scoot, though. was he...cold? it was getting colder with the start of fall.

_When you say it’s gonna happen “now”  
Well, what exactly do you mean?  
See, i’ve already waited too long_

a rough material brushed against his arm. rogelio’s jacket. rogelio had scooted closer. wow. okay.

_And all my hope is gone._

that’s where you’re wrong, singer guy! john thought triumphantly.

wait, woah. why’s he-

a jacket draped around him. rogelio looked over and smiled sheepishly. john looked down, his face already growing warm.

oh.

“thanks,” he murmured. he thought he got an “mhm” out of his friend, but he wasn’t entirely sure. someone, or something, whistled a tune inside the song.

he wasn’t scared of the loud yowl of the guitar anymore. but where was the singer?

why’s it.

quiet?

where’d the guitars go?

chills went down his spine as he heard the wail again, whisking him back on his feet from the musical rut and bringing him back to normality.

_You shut your mouth  
How can you say  
I go about things the wrong way  
I am human and i need to be loved  
Just like everybody else does._

it continued, but began to fade. everything coming back one more time, just to exit.  
things got quieter, and quieter,

and quieter.

“did you like it?” rogelio’s voice was muffled.

“no,” john said.

rogelio tensed. “oh?”

after an awkward second, john leaned away, tapping his foot. “i’m just kidding, it was really really good. i’ve never heard anything like it.”

“keep it!”

“hm?”

rogelio chuckled.  
 _You say its gonna happen nowww  
Well, when exactly do you meaannn_  
“no, seriously: you can keep it if you want.”

john tentatively took the headphones off, as if wanting to hold onto the last traces of the music. he felt safe there, in that little How Soon Is Now? world. little world of yelling guitars and god-knows-what just making sense. nothing made sense in the real world, but in the How Soon Is Now? world things fell into place like fingers on a guitar’s neck. everything knew where to go and what to do. he liked it. he wanted to hold onto it until he couldn’t even stomach the name of the song.

eventually, though, he handed the headphones to rogelio, who quickly and skillfully prepared it for its journey into another man’s hands.

“nice. uh...do you...have somewhere to be today?”

“i- yeah. there’s...family issues. sorry.”

“oh, its fine! it was short, but sweet. i’ll let you get going now, if you want.”

rogelio stood up.

“oh! your jacket.”

rogelio gently took his jacket and draped it over his arms. john watched in a strange wonder.  
 _Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar_  
“oh, uh- one more thing.”

“yeah?”

john leaned forward and smiled in a strange way, mischievous almost. “back in palmyra my best friend was literally a crust punk from britian. i know lace code, ro.”

rogelio froze in his tracks. his face went red.

“relax, i knew from the start, and i’m not tellin’. see you sunday, to return this? or sooner?”

rogelio mumbled something and walked away, head down and moving quickly and awkwardly.

“bye!” john called. he sighed. “i think i killed him.”

at home, he listened to a few more songs off of the cassette (he had accidentally realized there were more, probably around 6 or 7 more).

then the phone rang.

john stood up, humming. he walked over peppily and pulled the phone off its arm.

“hello?”

“john. i need to talk to you about something.”

“hello, father allred! how are y-”

“wait, what’s that in the- do you-”

“oh! sorry! one sec i’ll be-”

john let the phone fall recklessly with a tap as he ran to pause the cassette, which he’d left blasting. he had no idea what song was on (since he couldn’t tell, he just gave them names based off of the lyrics he’d remembered. for example: what was This Charming Man to rogelio or anyone who knew the discography was I would go out tonight).

_I was looking for a job and then i found a job  
And heaven knows-_

john ran back, stumbling.

“sorry. back. what’s up?”

“john, this is serious. is anyone else in the room with you, because this needs to be completely confidential.”

john looked around. “last time i checked, no.”

“what about the-”

“oh! oh, that’s just music a friend gave me.”

“i see. well, there’s no easy way to tell you this, so i’ll just ask you outright: do you know what an exorcism is?”


	13. STERLING, CT. 1986

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy end of act 1 ✝️ ;)

back when he’d take him hunting, james’s father would point at the sun as they were going in and say “do you see how it bleeds, jamie?” and he agreed. it looked as if the sun was wounded, shot down by the moon’s rifle and slowly skulking back to its den to lick its wounds. he never agreed with his father on much besides that, and eventually he knew the sun wasn’t bleeding, and the moon wielded no weapon. 

except now, in a strange youthful imagination, he could hear the screams of agony and the splash of blood hitting the ground. maybe the sun did bleed. 

“are you ready, father?” john said. john. his voice was slow and quiet, very different from how he interacted with his friend. 

“yes. i’ll drive, it’s not too far.” 

“where is the house?” 

he sat down and sighed, pulling on his seatbelt. “just at the edge of sterling: snake meadow hill road?” 

“no, i have no clue where that is.” 

father allred laughed, swatting at john’s legs. “don’t put your feet up in here.” 

john laughed as well, but obeyed. “sorry. forgot you were boring.”

it had been a while since he and john had had an actual ‘fun’ conversation. he got carried away and manipulated easily, james found. so it had been...two years. he thought getting father garcia out of the way would make it easier to keep an eye on john, but...they still saw each other. he didn’t understand why. 

“so...about 30 minutes out?”

“yes, not long at all.” 

“still in sterling?”

“still in sterling,” father allred repeated. he was growing impatient. john was acting like nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t ghosted his mentor. why? 

because rogelio had become his mentor. rogelio had replaced him. 

he squeezed the steering wheel. john needed to know about this. it was for the best. it’d break him, but it’d also separate him from that imposter of a priest. 

“do you speak to your friend like this?”

john looked over, confused. 

“this dryly?” father allred continued. 

“father garcia? no, i mean...he’s easier to talk to.”

“than me?” 

john rolled his eyes. he definitely thought he was joking. do i look like a joke to you, john? james wanted to say so much, but he couldn’t. he couldn’t get mad at him. not unless he can’t control his tongue. he’s respected me for this long, so why would he push it now?

“john, you’re a very...capable man. you are. but there’s-“ he cleared his throat. “there’s problems. with you and him.” 

john scoffed, and looked away. “why are we even discussing this right now?” 

“because i don’t trust him.”

“you don’t even know him!” john said. father allred tried to control his temper. “he’s scary-lookin’, and stupid sometimes, but he’s so gentle and sweet and would never hurt a–”

“that’s the problem, though: something bad is going to happen between you two, i just know it. just wait until he-”

“father, please! you’re not helping! you don’t know what’s good for me in any situation. you barely know me!”

“you don’t know what he told me!” 

john looked over again, eyes filled with scorn. father allred turned his eyes back to the road. 

“he’s dangerous, john: he confessed to me his...his erratic behavior: his suicidal behavior.” 

john’s heart dropped. he wanted to say something, but words dried on his tongue. 

“he was too weak, too...not understanding of the holy books. i had to do something about it. i had to give him michael to-”

“michael?” john’s voice cracked. “who’s michael?” 

“a young boy, 15. same situation as amy martin.” 

john was in awe. “so you gave him a possessed kid to help him being upset? what kind of-”

“i had to do what i had to do: an exorcism is a test of faith.”

“so why am i here? i’ve been nothing but faithful, father!” 

“you-”

“i spend day in and day out there with no recognition, only reprimand! was i too bad? did i stay late after or fall asleep in the pews on accident again, so you’re punishing me with a death quest to-”

“shut up.” 

john scoffed, but had nothing else to say, so he turned away. “he’s not...suicidal. he’s so happy, right?” 

james softened a bit. he felt remorse, just a tiny bit. did john really just want the best for people? was it simple as that? there had to be a catch. he had no way to support john, so he stayed silent. 

“what makes you think i would like him any less because of this, father?”

silence again. 

“it’s s-some kind of last resort for you: to weaponize someone else’s problems? you need to let go.” 

“john. you need to calm yourself. focus on task at hand, and we can-”

“no, you let me finish, i-”

father allred cut him off with a piercing glare. “we can talk about this later.” 

“i...okay.” 

“exorcisms aren’t particularly dangerous.” 

they were quiet for a few seconds before james found the strength to continue. 

“the worst i’ve experienced—about ten years ago—was an old lady with dementia. she didn’t know where she was. they thought she was possessed. this is most likely a nutcase.”

he knew amy martin was just a normal 17-year-old, and he knew the old lady never existed, but john didn’t and that’s what kept him safe. anxiety crawled in his stomach.

“the demon will...the demon will try and trick you: it will tell you things about yourself, things you’ve tried to hide.”

he looked over at john as he turned onto the road. it was only a matter of time. the sun had set quickly; it had been a short drive, but the sun had completely sunk. 

“you need to be ready. are you...are you ready for this?” 

“i mean, you said it yourself: exorcisms...aren’t death traps, right?”

“no, but...”

“so then we should be fine.” 

“yes. fine.”

he slowed, putting more pressure on the breaks as he looked to the right. 

“we’re here.” 

john looked with him. he only saw trees, large pine trees. they looked back at him with discuss, and suddenly he couldn’t think of anything to describe what they looked like. they stopped his thoughts. what could be hiding in there? who could be hiding in there? what a stereotypical question.

“i see only trees.” 

“look closer. the light is there.” 

he squinted, and eventually saw the warm cabin lights staining the darkness. this part of sterling was very rural. why else would there be a suspiciously convenient cabin in the woods with a suspiciously convenient possessed girl? this should go well. 

father allred veered off the main road and into the grass. a small bump sent john a few centimeters as they traversed from  
the main asphalt road to a dirt-and-rock path. 

“straight past the well is what they said,” father allred explained. 

“hey, wait-“

“there it is.” he gestured to an old stone well and kept driving. “not sure why they’d have a well in a forest, but it’s a nice landmark.” 

“father, are you sure about this?”

“what, are you getting nervous?”

a house loomed in front of them: it was large, maybe three stories including a basement. bright light shined out of the windows. it looked warm in there, and safe. a comforting little house. but still, the air felt heavy and weighted, almost like humid air before it rained. 

before something something BAD happened

“what, john?” father allred slammed the car door as he emerged, causing him to flinch. “are you afraid for once, boy?”

“no, not at all,” john pressed his lips into a tight line and grabbed the things from the trunk. 

everything about this is just like The Exorcist, john thought to himself. he laughed dryly. wonderful: i’m gonna fly out a window in two hours, tops. 

“keep your wits about you, john.” father allred turned to face him. a strange smile warped his face. his eyes were alight with some emotion: absolute evil. or maybe humor. “or YOU’LL be the rotting sack of bones.”

he knocked on the door, clearing his throat. john hurried to stand behind him. anxiety churned in his stomach. this is it. this is how i die: she’ll answer the door and she’ll kill me and i’ll be-

SHE didn’t answer the door, though. a middle-aged woman with deep wrinkles and her husband (presumably) answered it. their brows were drawn with fear. father allred smiled, and john looked away. 

“good evening, i am father allred. this is my assistant, father ward.” 

john looked up in acknowledgment.

“we’re here for your daughter.”


	14. ACT TWO: I COULD LIVE A LITTLE BETTER WITH THE MYTHS AND LIES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiii! you dont hear from me much but i’m the person writing this story :D welcome to the end of act one/the beginning of act two!
> 
> first of all i know TINGIP hasn’t gotten a crazy amount of attention but 200 reads is??? a lot??? i’m so grateful <3 thank you seriously
> 
> also quick reminder of the tags and what archive warnings apply, it doesn’t get any better from here so make yourself comfortable :,)

september 22nd, 1986.

this case is extremely interesting: we have a man here, an ex-priest, who’s obviously got a screw loose. i don’t know what it is about him, but something feels off. 

he’d driven all the way to a police station, somehow. a couple of officers arrived to the address he’d given them, and they found the girl, and the old man, and the parents...the girl was labeled mentally unstable and she’s in here, now. i spent the last two hours trying to get a logical sentence out of mr. ward, but it’s only been nonsense. it’s gonna be a long night.


	15. STERLING, CT. 1986

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry amy stans....u guys can sit down cos....she gonna be Transphobic......

“come inside, please,” mrs. martin spoke in a hushed tone. she looked scared, or paranoid. she moved like someone was watching her. 

john followed father allred inside. the house was very cold. but it was beautifully decorated: a large rug covered in fancy lines twisting around each other like vines and exploding outwards was on the floor, along with a grandfather clock in the corner. john looked forward begrudgingly: this place felt off. 

“are we performing the exorcism here?” john brushed his shoulder roughly against father allred, trying not to drop everything. he shook his head. “no.” 

mr. martin, though, looked back. “amy can’t travel in her condition.” 

john set the stuff down onto the table. he thought quietly that he probably should’ve asked before throwing things down, he knew there wasn’t really need for such niceties in this context. 

“it will be easier to perform this away from home, mr. martin.” 

his wife brushed against him, concerned and looking at father allred with a sad glimmer in her eyes. “amy needs to stay here.”

father allred looked upset, and john winced. he was surprised, however, when he eventually submitted. 

“fine,” he continued. “first of all: are there any...any pets in the, uh, house?”

they shook their heads. john looked down. holy water, two crucifixes, a large fresh bible: it was totally like any exorcism horror flick. cute. 

“any children?”

“we have two boys, they’re- they’re twins. n-nate and jason.” 

“are they in the home?”

“no, they’re at their grandmother’s.” mrs. martin sniffled. “amy’s...oh god.”

she suddenly crumpled, her head falling limply into her hands as she began to cry. it was quiet. her husband gently held her shoulder.

“amy’s downstairs in restraints.” 

john looked up. “they shouldn’t come with.” 

mr. martin looked up. “you sound young. how old are you?”

john smiled, trying to fight his tongue getting the better of him. “27. what does that have to-”

“forgive him, mr. martin: you’ll, um, accompany us, then?”

he looked at john quickly, then down, then at father allred. he held his breath. he was troubled. “yes.” 

“i’m coming with,” mrs. martin wiped her tears with the pad of her index finger. “i have to be there for her.”

john accompanied them with the holy items as they slipped down the stairs into the basement. it was even colder down here: at one point, john saw his breath billow out like smoke in front of him. 

he heard a low moan, and his stomach dropped. “she’s just through here: she’s tied to a chair, is that-“

“that works fine,” john muttered. “this is a big basement.”

father allred slipped next to him. “you sound like you’ve done this before.”

“no: jason miller and max von sydow have.”

father allred puffed. “good luck. godspeed.” 

“don’t wish me good luck, you piss-bucket.”

“don’t say piss-bucket,” father allred murmured. “amy?”

john looked up from his feet and saw a girl. she was, indeed, tied to a chair. her hair hung in front of her face in long stringy clumps. it looked matted, and he squirmed slowly. her long skirt flattened against her thighs. 

“hello, amy. my name is father allred. i’m here to help you.” 

she kept her head down. john pushed past her parents, his heart pounding. he nodded to father allred and handed him the bible. 

“this is father ward. he’s here to help you, too. we don’t want to hurt you, amy.” 

this time, she looked up. john felt vomit rise in his throat as she locked eyes with him. her eyes were sunken in. her cheeks must have been fuller before, so the malnutrition the possession caused gave them a gaunt and droopy look. her eyes had no light: he was sure that if he shined a flashlight in them there’d be no reflection. 

she smiled, revealing crooked teeth. “fag.”

john laughed quickly and sharply, and mrs. martin let out a gasp, but father allred stayed mature and (most importantly) professional. 

he opened the bible to a specific page. “in the name of jesus christ, our god and lord, strengthened by the intercession of the of the immaculate virgin mary, mother of god-”

amy began to growl in a voice that was not her own, and her head flung back. john held the crucifix up; he wasn’t sure what else to do. 

“-of blessed michael the archangel, of the blessed apostles peter and paul and all the saints.” 

he paused, and he and john looked at each other briefly. he knew father allred was scared. did he know he was scared? 

amy screamed in agony, the chair staggering forward as she struggled. 

“a-and powerful of the- i-in the holy authority of our ministry, we confidently undertake to repulse the attacks and deceits of the devil.”

“LIES!!!!!!! IT’S ALL LIES!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“god arises; his enemies are scattered and those who hate him-”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

“flee before him. as smoke is driven a-away, so they are driven, as wax melts before the fire so the wicked perish at the presence of god.” 

amy kicked and screamed. her parents clung to each other, scared and distraught. 

father allred hastily signaled john over. 

“behold the cross of the lord—“ (john held up the cross, feeling a little stupid) “—flee bands of enemies.”

john continued, “the lion of the tribe of juda, the offspring of david, hath c-conquered.” 

“may thy mercy, lord, descend upon us.”

“as great as our hope in thee.”

“HEATHENS!!!!! YOU’RE BOTH ROTTING IN HELL FOR THE FLIES TO FEAST UPON, KEEP THY FORKED TONGUE BETWEEN THY TEEEEETHHHHHHHHHH-“

“be silent,” father allred snapped, and amy (or whatever was inside of her) snarled. john felt chills run up his spine. 

“we drive you from us, whoever you may be, unclean spirits, all satanic pow- p-powers, all infernal invaders, all wicked legions, assemblies and sects.” 

one of the chair legs lifted off of the ground as amy screamed. her chest thrust upwards. her eyes rolled into the back of her head, causing the veins in her eyes to swell. 

“in the name and by the power of our lord jesus christ: the sacred sign of the cross commands you.”

“as does the power...o-of the mysteries...” john froze. amy’s head lolled, and the chair smacked back down. it was silent as the echo oscillated through the basement. 

“father ward, finish the phrase.”

amy’s head snapped up, and she screamed. he could hear her vocal chords shredding in her throat until only a shrill bray came out. her eye was bleeding, and dark brown blood had dripped down her mouth. she looked him in the eyes. 

“ALL THIS WORK, BUT YOU’RE STILL A SINNER!!!!!!!!! YOU’RE A SINNER, YOU’RE A TRANNYFAG!!!! YOU DIRTY CUNT!!!!!”

“john! john, pull yourself together!”

he(SHE) froze. SHE KNOWS HOW DOES SHE KNOW HOW DOES SHE KNOW

father allred, in a flare of desperation, slapped the other priest. “john! finish your sentence!”

“m-mysteries of christian faith. amen.”

“YOU’LL NEVER BE A MAN!!!! YOU MONSTER!!!”

father ward’s cheek buzzed in pain, but he didn’t snap. he didn’t move. he was frozen in fear, a trance almost. 

suddenly, amy’s voice came back, and she wailed. “mother! mother!”

“john, take them upstairs.”

amy’s mother began to cry again. 

“john! now!”

“y-yes, father.”

he still heard the screams from upstairs, his head in their kitchen sink. snot mixed with the vomit and water in the sink already, and he struggled to breathe. 

the grandfather clock struck eight. 

“will she be okay, father?”

john inhaled sloppily, but stayed silent. he wiped his mouth and nose with his sleeve. 

“she knows,” john murmured to himself, shaking. in the reflection of the silver kitchen sink, john saw himself shakily cutting his hair, tears running down in black flakes from the makeup he was obliged to put on. there was hair in the sink. 

he felt the smack of the holy bible on the back of his head, and he shot up. 

“he looks horrible.”

“of course he does, cindy...the way the poor thing froze after he-“

“she was yelling slurs at him. oh my god.”

“that must be horrible.”

they were quiet, but john’s head wasn’t. he saw the people on the bus again. all of them, from all the stops. he saw the weird looks they gave him, the way they pulled their children closer at the sight of him. he felt the rain pouring down as he rang his uncle’s doorbell. 

“it’s quiet,” he groaned. he rubbed his face. mascara stung his eye for a second. “i’m gonna go check on ‘im.”

“alright. um...tell me how amy is. tell her i love her.”

“i will.” 

he embarked down the stairs, his legs shaking. suddenly he was back in palmyra. lisa had slipped him twenty dollars with a solemn nod. he didn’t have much, but it would cover the bus ticket at least. 

“father allred?” john called. 

no response. he swore under his breath and hurried his pace. 

“father? are you-”

he let out a whimper at the sight of blood on the ground. the basement warped as his legs crumpled beneath him at the side of father allred (or what remained). his face was horribly disfigured. it was as if she just...dug her fingers into his eyes and pulled. like molding clay. blood spurted out of his nose. he was still alive. 

john gagged, then looked upward: amy was gone. 

the power went out. it was pitch black. no father, son, and holy ghost: just the troubled, the deceased, and the failure to god.


	16. STERLING, CT. 1986

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im losing my mind here. i cant take it much longer. she wont stop screaming

when john ward didn’t return to church the next sunday, he assumed the best of it: john finally took time for himself, good. but soon the rumors started spreading, and it made a lot more sense as to why john was gone, and father allred was gone, and why nobody really said anything. he knew the signs. 

however, it did give father garcia time to focus on helping michael. he was making great progress, and he could see soon enough michael back home on the couch, his hair fully grown back and springy and healthier, with his dog falling asleep on his lap. he knew the troubles the poor thing was going through, and at one point had almost convinced himself michael was back home with his mother.

funny thing is, sarah davies was killed october 5th, according to a newspaper, after an intoxicated driver t-boned her car on the highway, followed a few days later on the 8th by kyle davies’s remains being located in a cornfield somewhere near new haven. it started getting more unnerving when michael began to mutter about them to himself, about how he didn’t want to, he didn’t want to hurt them. how he loved them. it didn’t add hatred to father garcia’s perception of michael. it didn’t sweeten his image, either. he couldn’t view that thing as human no matter how hard he squinted and blurred the lines. 

today, he waited. this is the last day he’d wait, he thought to himself. just five minutes. hopefully. maybe. god please make him round the corner.

and by some miracle he did. he stumbled a bit and jumped at his shadow but he was there. rogelio almost didn’t believe it. but there he was. was he...coming towards him? or just walking. do i go up to him? 

john looked up and stopped in his tracks. they stared at each other for a second as if they’d never met before. a stranger’s in my way, should i ask him to move?

john took a step forward, cautious almost. rogelio was cautious, too. even as they approached each other they acted like complete strangers who recognized each other somehow, maybe from in a dream. 

eventually, john staggered up to him and wrapped his arms around his friend. rogelio softened and squeezed him back. they stayed like that for a while. john wasn’t much shorter than rogelio, maybe 4 or 5 inches, but he just seemed too small and cold clinging to him. it felt wrong. his suspicions definitely were true. 

“oh my god,” rogelio’s voice was trembling. “i didn’t th-think i’d- i’d see you again.”

john didn’t really give an answer, he just let himself be held. he never felt like this before, did he? only with lisa back in palmyra. it was such a painful but safe feeling, to be held. 

“so much happened, ro,” john eventually found the strength to talk. “i don’t even know where to start.” 

they broke apart awkwardly, walking towards their spot. “father allred’s...”

“i know,” rogelio sighed and sat down, patting the ground beside him. “i figured as much.” 

“i...i don’t know how to say this.”

rogelio yawned and turned away. “you don’t have to,” he said, shaking his head slightly after. “i kinda know.” 

“you don’t know,” john said in a dull voice. “i killed them. i should’ve stayed, ro. he was still alive. but i ran away from her—the girl—because she knew a-about m-me.” 

rogelio was taken aback. “what- what do you mean?” 

john was still for a second, but then he began to whimper and held himself close. “i’m a sinner,” he sobbed. “s-she knew about m-me! she knew!”

rogelio looked over, confused. “what are you talking about?”

john looked at him with something close to anger or scorn in his eyes. “do you know what a t-transvestite is?” 

“what do you mean, i don’t-“

“do you?”

rogelio hesitated for a second and looked down, almost in shame. “yes.”

“well, there you go: that’s me.” 

it took rogelio a second to understand, but when it finally hit he met john’s eyes in shock. “what? but you’re-”

“maybe transsexual then. i don’t-” he trailed off. there was no emotion in his body, no energy. there was nothing left. the exorcism had taken a toll on him. hell, that’s what exorcisms do. but was it just rogelio was better at hiding it? 

“i don’t know how to explain...you’re not gonna...say anything, are you?”

john leaned towards him, rogelio leaned away. “no. i wouldn’t do that to you.”

he cares about me, john reminded himself. does he? he doesn’t. that’s why he’s leaning away. 

“i’d ask you to tell me something, to make it even,” john said. his voice was cold and different. he didn’t meet his eye. “but i already know you’re a fag.” 

then he turned and smiled. not a happy-smile. a sad one. he was ashamed. they both were. deep down, there was a simultaneous reason why they were priests, crawling on all fours to avoid the light of judgement. because they were ashamed of who they were. neither wanted to admit, but it was true. a sudden solemn understanding of this washed over the two in a great wave as they sat there, suddenly unable to meet the other’s eye. it dried up their fruitful conversations, flooded any work they’d put into their friendship. 

“were you ever...” 

rogelio’s hand crept a little closer to john’s and just stayed like that for a little. “that’s a question for another time. it shouldn’t...” rogelio shook his head. was he holding back tears? “no. i...shouldn’t get in the way of your work.” 

“my work?” john scoffed, but he didn’t move. “ro, i’m leaving. i’m leaving the ministry, this church...i’m leaving for good.” 

“why?”

“they know too much. YOU know too much. i won’t tell, and you won’t tell, but they know. and amy...if they ask her...” 

rogelio crept his hand a bit closer. 

“i don’t want to put you in danger. or any more than you are now.” 

“then-“ rogelio paused, and looked down. their fingers brushed against each others. “then i’ll come with you.” 

“are you stupid? i just said you’ll be in danger with me.” 

“well, you shouldn’t have to hide who you are, or what you are, or whatever! john...”

rogelio tilted his head slightly. this was the most conversation or most emotion he’d gotten out of him in the last two years. and it’d never have a comparable moment, would it? john smiled sadly. “i have to. i have no choice.” he pressed his forehead to his friend’s and dropped his voice to a cracking whisper. “you were never the problem, rogelio.”

the fleeting, desperate hope for something to happen whisked by rogelio, and he was left with many choices but not a lot of time. 

john sat back, eyes squinted close. he was trying not to cry. after a slight shaky gasp, he caught a hold of himself and pulled something out of his pocket. “here,” he murmured. “i never gave this back.”

“thanks,” rogelio said, feeling defeated. “thank you for telling me.” 

john rose to his feet. “thank you.” rogelio popped up too, smiling. or trying to smile, at least. for once, he couldn’t mask things. 

“see you later, then?” 

john turned around. “you won’t, i’m not coming back.” he walked a few steps, then looked over his shoulder. he wanted to felt held again. but that’d make it harder to leave. “bye.” 

rogelio started for home a few minutes after john. 

upon entering, the familiar rancid smell plunged into his lungs, and he gagged. it was stronger. it smelled like burning, rotting meat and urine. michael. 

“michael?” rogelio called, his voice breaking. no response. had he gone up? his heart dropped, and he made his way towards the basement stairs, accidentally scattering the photographs he’d stacked neatly on the table. but he didn’t care. 

a low moan came from the basement. he felt dizzy in relief and nausea from the strengthening stench. “michael, hey-”

he paused at the bottom of the stairs. michael was in his restraints still, sure, but his chest was twisting diagonally so he was propped up against the wall. one of the blessed crosses (they were there to keep him in place) had fallen, and he’d collected a sizable bruise on his forehead. he winced and squirmed, his bony feet kicking helplessly under the restraints. 

michael himself had changed so much in three months. his skin, although already a light, tan-olive color, had shriveled and dulled to an ashy white. his jawbones were sunken in, his lips had shrunken, every bone on his body had begun to protrude and he’d mutilated himself horribly in some areas (he didn’t even want to think about it).  
the blood vessels in his eyes had burst not too long ago, but it hadn’t begun to heal at all: his scleras had gone completely red and stayed like that. he didn’t even look human. 

as for michael’s consciousness, well...that was far gone. MALPHAS almost always fronted. HE THY HOLY ARCHANGEL would speak for him most of the time, but michael could see. he could see everything, but couldn’t do anything. it was almost like watching your life from a movie where you couldn’t control what you said or did. just watch and wait to see what happened. 

“michael?” he vaguely heard. he turned his head slowly, carefully. his entire body ached, and upon looking at THAT HEATHEN he couldn’t see him. the light was too bright, it looked like the flash of the camera but there was no warning and it STAYED THERE. WHY DID HE DO THIS TO MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

father garcia paused. “why did you-”

“it made me put them up,” father garcia’s shoulders straightened in interest. michael was here. his voice was pleading and scared. it didn’t match who he was now. 

“who did?” he asked. michael shrunk into himself. 

“i can’t say its name.” 

he wandered close, too close. michael flinched, but HE found this to be a good opportunity. 

“what a shame...” 

“what’s the shame, michael?”

“she lied to you. and she left you.” 

father garcia paused. “he didn’t lie to me. he just kept something from me. that’s different.” 

“YOU SINNER”

“that’s enough. reveal thy name to me.” 

“NEVERRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!”

the priest was silent, but in a desperate attempt to get something of this he grabbed the vile of holy water sitting on the chair and splashed it across michael in a cross. he squirmed and screamed in agony, his wounds bleeding.

a loud scrape of the table shooting forward caused father garcia to flinch and give michael time to scramble up the stairs. 

he was more comfortable on all fours. his legs were weak, so the best he could do even with his newfound strength was stumble about and get rid of everything that glowed. make it dark.  
something shined in the man’s room. he tumbled in, drawn to it. it was beautiful as it shone. a picture of the wall?  
michael rose to his two legs, pushing back the swell and throb of MALPHAS. he’d be angry at him, but he just wanted to see.  
his heart dropped. he stared at himself and didn’t recognize it. what is that thing? he was pale and skinny, too skinny. and everything hit him at once. he’d killed mama. he’d killed daddy. HE’D KILLED THEM ALL!!!! HOW COULD HE?? HOW COULD HE?? 

“michael!” rogelio stumbled in. michael collapsed into a heap, screaming and sobbing whatever he could out of his system. “oh god are you okay? did you hurt yourself? what happened?” 

“I KILLED MAMA!!! MAMA!!!!!!!! MAMA I’M SORRY MAMA PLEASE LOVE ME!!!” 

rogelio was silent. he listened to michael argue with himself. 

“SHE DID LOVE ME!!!! SHE SAID SHE DID!!!!! SHE SAID SHE DID AND THAT SHE’D MISS ME!!!! I WANNA GO HOME!!!!!!” 

he was sobbing the entire way back down. despite how horrible he looked and the dangers, rogelio carried him down to the basement in his arms. michael had never broken free before. why now? he thought he’d made such good progress. was it all for nothing? 

he put michael back in his restraints and went to his room.


	17. STERLING, CT. 1986

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i feel so scared now but boys don’t cry right

john hadn’t paid attention to the news until his uncle called him in early november. he’d mentioned it after checking in on his nephew and wishing him a happy halloween (how happy could it be? no horror movies would be digestible after september) before remarking, almost casually, about a pretty weird headline that had travelled up to new york because of its oddity. 

“anyways, there’s a naked guy running around in the woods in sterling.” 

john froze. “what are you talking about, jo?”

“no, i’m being serious,” he tried to not sound scared. “let me read it to you.” 

he then read a paragraph about a woman driving through snake meadow hill road (john was uneasy, although now he could barely think of why without his mind yelling at him to not think about it) and almost hitting what looked like a big white skinny animal. it walked on all fours and was unnaturally fast, apparently. 

“they asked her if it was an animal and she...she said it looked at her.”

“oh god,” john said, slightly amused. “then what happened?”

“she said it looked like a human face...here, the exact quote, ‘i saw its face: it looked right at me and it was a human face’. kinda weird, huh?” 

john remembered, almost unwillingly, gabriel’s last moments alive. his eyes had looked superficial and glassy: almost human. they stared right through john, just like that girl  
(JESUS CHRIST WHY CAN’T I REMEMBER HER NAME?)  
did back in september. what did they have in common?

“they’re all possessed, aren’t they?” 

“john, no: stop...stop talking. possession isn’t real. it isn’t. it’s all made-up-stuff for hollywood. i promise.” he sighed. “don’t scare yourself, okay?” 

oh, i’m not scaring myself, uncle: i’ve been scared enough, john thought begrudgingly, but tried to push it away.

“it was probably some albino or something, maybe some scrambled coyote. or a deer. those are in your area, right?”

“i dunno,” john said dully. 

“okay. but stay safe.” 

“i know what you’re thinking, though,” john spoke almost without meaning to. 

“what are you talking about?”

“you know gabe was...cats don’t do that to themselves, they don’t...tear themselves apart. something was wrong with him: it wasn’t some senile illness. it was something else.” 

“you’re driving yourself crazy, john. please just...put down the bible once in a while. this isn’t sunday school. this is real damn life.” 

he hung up. john swallowed his saliva and shuddered. why was he acting like this?

it was only a few days after he’d left the church, right? he hadn’t kept track: day and night felt the same, and he couldn’t do anything except reread his copy of the bible, drawing lines and circling phrases as he tried to figure out what he did wrong. hours after hours until his back was sore from slouching, staring at himself in the mirror until he couldn’t recognize himself and needing to get the BAD WOMAN out of the mirror. he’d added picking shards of glass out of his hands as a new activity. 

this was definitely what dying felt like: the slow, simple decay. he was rotting, except he was still conscious. he had no access to his reflection, except sometimes in a passing glance past the TV, but he was too scared to look and see something he didn’t want to see. there’d be hollow holes where his blue eyes had been, and his skin would begin to peel back like cheap wallpaper, bending against the weight of his bones. his heart had stopped a while ago, he was sure of it: he’d never gotten around to check if it still was beating. 

what did he look like? he was curious again. he wanted to push this thought down, just like the bad memories, but he couldn’t. he looked towards the TV. there’s an answer. 

what do i look like again? he tried to picture it, or how he’d seen himself in the mirror, at least...his hair was fluffy, right? it was thick when it was longer. his eyelashes were long and feminine. his teeth had a gap in them, two gaps. his body wasn’t muscular or boxy like he wanted it to be, and he was short. it was ironic: he could only vividly remember the things he hated. 

he remembered his dream about lisa and the apartments. it seemed so familiar. he’d never stepped foot inside of an apartment complex, though: why did it seem so familiar? 

he thought about the graveyard, the church, the cornfield, god-knows-what-else. he’d been there before, he was sure of it. 

john looked at himself. amy martin stared back, tears in her eyes. 

i have to finish what i started.

he put his hand forward and he returned to normal, or what he thought was normal; it was enough to shake him, at least. 

he sighed shakily. he needed to get help. some kind of help. something.


	18. NEW HAVEN, CT. 1986

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gary please let me out i promise i wont make you scared again i promise PLEASE LET ME OUT IM SORRY IM SORRY

“so, john: this all started...”

“-back in september,” he murmured. he couldn’t make eye contact with anyone. he didn’t want to. his head felt fried and overworked, and he felt like his brains, melted and squishy, would spill out from under his eyeballs, out his mouth, through his nose; any place that it could escape through. he wanted to get out of here. his body ached to be back at home, but he knew he had nowhere else to go: he could only sit at this too-clean table in the too-clean room with the too-clean nurses and such. “back...when i first came here, yeah.” 

the two doctors present looked at each other. they knew this man had suffered delusions (it had been apparent since his last visit), but the fact he was sticking with them was bizarre. 

“i’m back because i’ve been having nightmares. horrible...h-horrible nightmares about my friends, m-my family...p-people i don’t even know sometimes: it’s usually in a forest.”

it was quiet again. the lights hummed overhead while the doctor with glasses and long hair wrote something down. 

“i don’t know why they frighten me so much, i mean—“ john cut himself off, choking on a forced laugh. “—when i think about it, they’re-they’re nothing. nothing but dreams.”

he didn’t know what they were, actually, but he knew the truth: they weren’t nothing but dreams. they were recreations of his worst fears. they were the result of his mind rotting. they were delusions caused by ptsd after he, oh-so-despicable and under the influence of the devil, lashed out against his superiors and took out his angers and anxieties on the young girl and her family. he could see what they were writing. pictures in his mind. 

“there are usually demons in these dreams,” he continued, his voice cracking a little. “they’re like obstacles to me. obstacles in my path. it feels like in these dreams i’m being led...controlled...i’m supposed to get from- f-from point a to point b in these dreams, but i don’t know how or why. it’s just a sort of...silent notion, somehow.” 

he kept his head down, staring at his shoes. for the first time he thought of his friend, a little sad. he just remembered his shoelaces were purple and yellow. what was his name again? he was really sad, wasn’t he? he had curly hair that was really soft when you ran your hand through it although the curls would lose their bounce a little when you messed with them. wow: he could remember all that and not even his name? how stupid. 

he didn’t even notice the taller doctor, the one with khakis on and glasses instead of bell-bottoms, stood up and tapped the table near john’s arm. he looked up. 

“would you accompany me please, father?” 

john stood up slowly, his memory jogging. you have to correct him, he thought sharply. 

“oh, uh...i quit the ministry back at the end of october.” 

“i see,” spoke the doctor, looking left sharply as they hit a part of the hallway that went two ways. john trailed closely behind, a little scared of all the empty space, until eventually he stopped outside of a closet, unlocked it, and beckoned john to follow. 

john froze outside of the closet: the harsh, bright lighting of the hallway contrasted the dark enigmas inside of the closet, and the secrecy made him nauseous. 

“come on,” he coaxed, almost like a pet. “i just want to ask you some things away from dr. mcglashan.”

john took a reluctant step inside. as darkness consumed him, so did the cold air of amy’s house. AMY THAT WAS HER NAME and he traversed her house once again in his mind, remembering the stink of blood and fire and the flashing police lights. he remembered what he could. 

he fully submerged himself in the darkness, embracing it dangerously, as dr. spinel shut the door enough that only a little light came through. and suddenly the terror came back. 

“now, john: i don’t...trust you.” 

“what do you mean?” john stammered. 

I SHALL NOT BE AFRAID OF THE TERROR IN THE NIGHT

“use your real voice.” 

this caught john off-guard. making his register lower made him feel more comfortable: he’d done it subconsciously for a while now, and suddenly he couldn’t ‘switch back’. what should he say? 

“this IS my real voice, doctor.” 

“no it isn’t,” he snarled, spitting the words through his teeth. he was getting mad now, wasn’t he? 

NOR THE EVIL

“i don’t know what you want me to do,” john kept his voice steady, but he backed up a little. look at you: you’re letting yourself get bullied into a corner by a guy in khakis. but he couldn’t snap at him, could he? he grimaced at the worlds and worlds of trouble he’d be in if he did that. but he couldn’t just succumb to whatever this man told him to do. 

“i know something’s wrong with you,” he said, practically snarling. his eyes glimmered behind his glasses thanks to the light from the hallway. “i’m trying to help you.” madness flared in his eyes. 

john gasped, trying to press himself up against the wall. “i want to see if my suspicions are true.” 

john began to shake. only slightly, but this was the first time he felt fear because of who he was. it made him want to crawl further in his shell, to hide and pretend like he was NORMAL.   
THAT WALKETH IN DARKNESS

dr. spinel looked briefly to the hallway. he knew what he was trying to get out of this kid was wrong, but it was just sitting there, shaking like jell-o. he was trying to help this thing, whatever it was. he leaned against the other wall adjacent, narrowing his eyes. 

“take it off.” 

john’s heart dropped, but he was confused. he didn’t want to ask what he meant. his shirt or... 

he hesitated. spinel put out a hand, shooing him to hurry up. 

he grabbed at the bottom of his shirt hastily. the doctor nodded. was that a smile? john felt shivers crawl all over his body, and humiliation...pure, raw, uncut and fatty HUMILIATION. it sank into his pores, drenched him in a thick, sticky coat of FILTH. and slowly, reluctantly, he removed his shirt. 

the doctor nodded and seemed satisfied but looked...fearful. ARE YOU AFRAID OF ME? ARE YOU AFRAID OF WHO I AM? 

“did you do that to yourself?”

“no. i had uh...i had a surgery.” 

“i see,” dr. spinel narrowed his eyes. “i knew it.” 

john adjusted his stance awkwardly, hot shame keeping him warm. this was probably the first time someone had seen him topless, besides his uncle. he felt so exposed, so wrong. he felt like HE was doing something wrong. but he wasn’t DOING anything. 

“can i...put it back on now?”

after a too-long second, the doctor nodded. he looked at him with more hatred now. john wanted to cry(BOYS DONT CRY BOYS DONT CRY) but he swallowed the ache in his throat and followed the doctor out, this time trailing behind more. 

dr. spinel never told dr. mcglashan about what had happened, and he began his treatment for his delusions. 

he got a month of ‘solitary therapy’ recommended by spinel. 

solitary happened to everyone, sure: for the most part. but he wasn’t really allowed to leave his room, only people were allowed to come in. he couldn’t look dr. spinel in the eyes anymore. dr. mcglashan was nice enough, though. he actually wanted to help. or at least john thought. the things in his room appeared from the wall about a week into his first stay. they whispered things in his ear, constantly day and night, and john wondered how they never tore their vocal chords from talking so much. 

maybe he was insane after all. he wished so desperately for things to go back to normal, even cried about it sometimes. was there really a normal? 

he closed his eyes and finally, with forgiveness and patience on his platter, awaited sleep again.

when he awoke, it was cold. an overwhelming, pungent wave of déjà vu hit him, and he knew why: she was here. he saw her with his own two eyes. he was sure of it. 

he sat up, drawing the blanket around him. was that his breath he could see? was he still dreaming? he bit his finger. a sharp stinging pain. no, not dreaming. 

he had to get out of here. he had no clue how long he’d been here, or even why he came: a sense of purpose? desperation? whatever it was, he hadn’t achieved it here. 

he suddenly thought about father allred, and his uncle, and lisa, and rogelio. THAT was his name. those conversations with those people...it felt so long ago. realisitcally, it had only been a year or so since, but it felt like another life. another story. he thought about how HE’D messed up, HE was the reason he was in this room. 

so HE had to be the reason he’d get out. dr. mcglashan had reported good progress, hadn’t he? he’d faked it well enough. how funny: it’s so easy to feign feeling better when people asked. 

some paper and a pen. that would work. he thought about why pens were there, and how there presence was strange: wouldn’t people try to stab themselves or others with them? it’s so funny. it’d be funny to STAB THAT ONE DOCTOR THE NEXT TIME HE CAME IN  
he was feeling a lot better now. 

after some consideration (and a couple of failures) he finally managed to recover the date:

‘december 30th, 1986’, he wrote:

‘dear dr. mcglashan,’


	19. NEW HAVEN, CT. 1987

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nearing the end of act 2, we in da home stretch babyyyyyyyy

‘rogelio,

i haven’t talked to you in a while, huh? sorry about that. i feel horrible about it all. i shouldn’t have’

he’d stared blankly at the paper after that, tapping the pen against the table. it felt like writing to someone who he’d never spoken to before: what else should he write? his mind went blank. 

some part of his brain tried to tell him that he didn’t need to apologize for anything, but he was one-thousand-percent sure (truthfully, it was more akin to eighty-eight-percent? maybe seventy?) that he’d done more wrong to count. with a groan, he buried his aching head into his hands. why was he suddenly unable to conjure any words onto the page? 

he threw down the pen in frustration and crumpled the paper. emerging tears stung his eyes. he got out of yale psych. he endured an exorcism. and he can’t write a letter?

it was all so confusing. he felt a little better, sure. but he knew he was happier before this. he was happier before his secrets were exposed. or had he always hated himself? that can’t be right. 

rising from his chair, he returned to look at his reflection in the tv: not much had chsnged, really. his cheekbones stuck out just enough to appear as a slight shadow on his face. he didn’t look good, but...it certainly wasn’t bad. 

“ok, good: you’re salvageable,” he muttered to himself. how did people do this again? 

goals, yeah: how about... 

he looked around, then wrote a sentence down. that would be his goal, or however this worked.

“‘eff yale psych’.” he laughed at himself. “and don’t rot yet. you’re too pretty to rot’.”

he taped it onto his tv (the only way to actually see himself each day since his mirror had a crack in it now) and made a point to take care of himself for once. feed himself, get some sleep, maybe read something: he found himself reading a lot of horror novels. of course, nothing really scared him anymore, but the book ‘cujo’ gave him something to think about (mainly how bizarre it was that someone put extensive thought into writing about a dog killer; it was comedic enough to get him to actually forget the entirety of the plot). 

and as promised, his reward was reaped: he got around to convincing himself that he was a decent person. was that his goal? it sure looked like it: but he didn’t feel relentlessly happy. he just felt fine. it was better than nothing. 

the exorcism stuck in his mind: he couldn’t remember everything that had happened in it, but he knew that it happened. he was sure of that. it was something that would show up randomly in his mind as he was trying to sleep, or in a book. the mention of the word ‘amy’ or ‘september’ or ‘demon’ even would get him uncomfortable. nonetheless, over the course of his release in december to june of the next year, he felt like he’d done a good job of ‘fixing’ himself. 

the only problem was his uncle jo calling him one day (one of john’s bad days, where all he did was try and force himself to recall the details of september 21st to a frustrating degree) and, surprised at his answer, asked him to come over. 

uncle jo had moved out of his house back in august or something into an apartment. john was upset, wondering why he’d even consider moving out of the house he’d had for so long, but his uncle just explained that since rent was low it was suitable for him and his aging self. 

his uncle’s apartment wasn’t huge, but it still wasn’t cramped. it just didn’t feel homey. well, it was homey, but not home. john shook his head, his uncle watching from the couch. nothing made sense anymore. 

“everything’s so confusing,” john voiced his recurring thoughts aloud. even his own voice sounded different. uncle jo nodded feebly. 

“it really is, yeah.”

“you doing okay?”

he hesitated, then squinted his eyes and smiled. his wrinkly hands were draped across his stomach. “oh, it’s nothing: just a stomach bug, i think. my landlord-he’s real sweet, around...your age, probably?-anyway, he and a few other people brought over some cookies for me. nice, right?” 

“nothing feels the same anymore,” john continued and ignored his uncle’s ramblings. “i mean...ever since yale psych i haven’t felt like myself. at all. it’s so...odd. i feel so disconnected from myself and i don’t feel real. i mean, i think i’m real: i see myself everyday and i live my life, but...”

it was quiet. john continued. 

“...but my sense of reality, or something like that; it’s been shaken. shaken right off its legs. and i just- i feel so lost. so lost,” he’d began to pace, and no eyes followed him. his head began to ache. 

“i tried to help her, and i tried my best but i got so scared. and i fled. i fled like a coward. she still needs my help. it’s like...” he stopped in his tracks, looking over. hair got in his eye, but he didn’t care. “i have a debt to pay, don’t i? maybe if i can-”

“john,” his uncle began. 

“maybe if i can finish what i started–pay my due in full–i can be saved! and all of this-”

“john!” his uncle raised his voice, and it shake as he spoke. he sounded...so much older. “do you hear yourself? you sound crazy.” 

“i know i do,” john retorted. he narrowed his eyes. “i’ve been told that millions of times, jo!” john threw his arms out lazily to the sides of his haunches, then let them fall to his sides again with a quiet slap. “but this all started back in september when-”

“this started long before then, john!” his uncle, still hunched, walked over. “you can’t change a streak of bad luck: it’s not a sin, it’s just misfortune! you can’t change this.” 

“for me, then!” john leaned forward. “it’d be for me! you have nothing to do with that girl! you have-”

“john. you’re stressed. you’re breaking. you’re under pressure.”

“pressure?” john looked over his shoulder. anger boiled within him, turning his face pink and practically seeping out of his ears in a fine steam. “pressure- TO HELL WITH PRESSURE, JO!” 

his dear old uncle flinched. it was quiet again. john recoiled. “i shouldn’t have yelled,” he murmured. his shoulders heaved as he took a breath. “i...i’m...let me do this. please. then i’ll...i’ll be done with this all. no, no...we’ll be done with all this.” 

his uncle turned around to face the wall. without his energetic, wry aura, the entire place felt off, a house that wasn’t home, a new door nobody recalled. he was broken. he was sickly. he was aging. john realized with a strange melancholy that his uncle wouldn’t be around forever: he was older than his sister (john’s late mother) by seven years, and she was in her older years when she had her firstborn. headstrong uncle jo, like everything else, had a wilting point. 

“jo? i’m sorry for yelling. i really shouldn’t have-”

“fine.” 

john paused, confused. 

“fine. do it. i don’t...” he let his head rest on his hand. “i don’t care. i don’t believe in this paranormal stuff: i never even believed the conspiracies passed around, yet i seem like a total tinfoil-hat, right?”

john, uncultured in the arts of blocking mind breaches, didn’t say a word. 

“what i’m trying to say is: i don’t give a damn. i don’t. i really don’t. i don’t give a damn if...if ghosts are chasing you, or if you’re just a nutcase.” he approached his nephew, grasping his crossed arms and looking into his eyes with a different kind of desperation; the desperation of a mother sending her son off to war. the ‘please come back alive’ desperation. 

“i never apologized for a lot. i did a lot of drugs back...back when i brought you to that club. i shouldn’t have brought you there. i shouldn’t have. i’m so sorry.” 

john furrowed his eyebrows, but his eyes were soft in pity. “what are you getting on about?” 

“i don’t think either of us have much time left. it’s only nature. i’m just...apologizing for it now. i’m so sorry i had to put you through that. no...no nineteen-year-old should’ve seen-.” 

he patted his uncle’s forearm. “you’re forgiven. just don’t get sappy, please. not now.” he pulled away. “i just want things to be normal again, so if you could do that with your magic powers that’d be great.” 

“i’m not magic, but i’ll try.” 

silence. 

“you done?”

“nope,” his uncle pulled his lips into a tight line. his arms moved stupidly, but slowly. “i’m channeling my powers.”

“okay, i get it. you’re magic. woah. we’re done. we’re all normal.”

“ok. i think...i’ve got it. leave and walk back in.” 

john left. he waited a few seconds. then he walked back in. 

“oh, what a great day to be normal.”

his uncle opened his eyes. the sparkle was back. “okay, now you’re overdoing it.” 

they laughed a little, then it felt apparent it was time to leave. 

“goodbye, uncle jo.”

“i love you, john. take care. may the boogie man stop following you.”

“boogie man isn’t real. see you later.” 

he went home with a smile on his face, but the smile soon faded after reading a all-too familiar headline with an all-too familiar name: amy martin.

and john was pretty sure the worst combination of words include “amy martin” and “escaped”.


	20. SEPTEMBER 21ST, 1987

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHAH

if you’d asked john back in 1985 where he’d be two years from now, he’d probably laugh in your face and reprimand you for such a stupid question: of COURSE things would be the same. what kind of question is that?

but now john looked back in longing as he drove up to the unnervingly-familiar snake meadow hill road. his throat was dry and his stomach ached with dread, but he knew this is something he had to do, much like the task of attending a loved one’s funeral (or any funeral, for that matter). 

“september 21st, 1987.” he laughed at himself, suddenly aware of the stupidity of his actions. what purpose did he have to announce this, exactly? 

let them know i’m here. he thought, and laughed again. let them know father ward is back and a few mental-hospital-visits richer. 

“it’s been...one year since i first went inside that house.” 

the bizarre dreams he had popped into his head abruptly, and the strongest, most pungent sense of déjà vu bathed him. had he been here before? had he...seen these trees? these cornfields? that grave by the side of the road? had he said this before?

“i have to finish what i started.” 

what did that mean?  
WELLWHENEXACTLYDOYOUMEAN  
i am NOT doing an exorcism with a song stuck in my head. this is insane.   
should’ve left it at ‘i am not doing an exorcism’, john.  
stop being an idiot  
you’re an idiot

guess it meant whatever he wanted it to mean. he thought about this for a second, feeling humorously philosophical: ‘meant whatever he wanted it to’ or ‘means whatever is most convienent’. that’s the same thing, right?

finally and triumphantly, he laughed once more, only aloud and a little sad. if there was one thing he could guarantee from this...venture, it’d be that there wasn’t much of a chance he’d make it out alive. he felt troubled, and not about the possibility of death, no. he found death alluring and attractive with dark mysterious eyes. he was troubled about making it out alive. what was he to do? 

visit uncle jo like you said you would, john. 

“what i am about to do has not been approved by the vatican.”

only a minute or two left to go. what would happen?

maybe i should turn back  
NO! WE’VE MADE IT THIS FAR!  
there is no we  
there is no god.

there’s nothing.

help me


	21. SEPTEMBER 21ST, 1987

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...

he stepped out of the car, and a wave of emotions coursed through him, along with questions: was she even there? can i still help her? why did i park my car here on the road instead of in the woods? am i afraid of what i might find? (no, of course not) what lay there? what corruption? what chaos? what lurked among the pines? 

maybe i should have a cigarette before i go in  
you’re STALLING.

ok maybe i am stalling.   
just go.  
get this over with.   
for amy.  
for father allred  
(rotting sack of bones HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAH)  
for amy.

eventually, he worked up the courage to grab the crucifix used by father allred during the original feat of hopeless faith, locked his car, and embarked through the sneering conifers. 

see? nothing bad. just find the house again. i for  
am i lost?  
i’m lost.   
(NOT SURE WHY THEYD HAVE A WELL IN A FOREST BUT ITS A NICE LANDMARK)

the well. yes. 

he saw it in the distance, frozen in place like a statue. it was only until he came up beside it that he realized how truly wide and truly deep it was. the bottom was covered in pine needles (figures, what with all the trees). why do you need a well in a forest? john thought. he felt like he was in some cheap horror movie. that’s what he felt he’d lived through, anyways. 

he had a strange temptation to look down the well. well, he’d already done that, but look deeper. look john, can’t you see? something’s hiding in there. don’t look behind you right now. just look at the well. 

there’s a nest of birds down there. isn’t it pretty, john? aren’t the birds pretty? 

a deer brushed a bush as it roamed its home. deer were really common in this area. wait, deer? 

john looked up from his trance, panicked. deer were bad. the article about the crazy guy in the woods. 

he turned around, keeping his back to the well. he wasn’t armed, just a crucifix and a bible. what could he do? some misshapen creature emerges from the woods and attacks him. what a stupid way to die. death by deer-eating-crazy-man. 

HE WATCHED THE VESSEL FROM HIS HIDING PLACE. HOW STUPID. HOW INNOCENT. HE TURNED AROUND: HE WAS BRIGHT, TOO. BUT NOT AS BRIGHT AS THE OTHER ONE. WAIT  
SOMETHING MOVED  
HIS EYES BURNED AS IF SOMEONE HAD PUT A LIGHTER TO THEM. IT HURT HIS HEAD AND HIS EYES AND HIS BODY AND HIS FINGERS (THE FINGERNAILS HADN’T GROWN BACK YET) IT HURT HIM ALL OVER. MAKE IT STOOOOOOOOOOP

john looked over his shoulder as something rustled in the bushes again. his heart began to beat wildly. 

“amy?”

silence. the trees stared down with glaring eyes, green and unnerving, waiting for him to do something. but he didn’t do anything until the doe calmly emerged from the bushes.

she stared calmly at him. her eyes were glossy and shiny, and her coat looked clean. she was so perfect she almost looked fake. he half-expected her to run upon seeing him, but she just stood there. calmly. no emotion in her marble-shaped eyes. 

the forest does weird things to your mind.

john wanted to walk towards her, stroke   
her long snout, run his hands through her coarse fur, MAYBE GUT HER AND HANG HER ON HIS WALL AS A TROPHY, but he didn’t. he didn’t move. 

her head snapped sharply to the right. a bush trembled and out burst this...thing. 

the leaves of the bush clung to the thick saliva running from its face. its skin was pretty much a pale white, and the bones under its warped and ashy hide stuck out, looking to break the surface. its eyes held the same malice, the same lust for carnage that amy’s did.

there was no way to describe how this thing ran. no, crawled would’ve been more accurate. the amount of strength this thing possessed was frightening enough to keep john from running. he knew it’d catch up. 

it reached the doe in about 5 strides before leaping at the deer. she must’ve tried to run, but the creature held her down and dug into her stomach, all while she looked towards john with pleading eyes. but he still didn’t move. 

eventually, she stopped moving, too. john watched in horror and confusion as the pale creature began to rip off huge mouthfuls of meat and entrails and force them down its throat. 

then it threw it up. it was so malnourished that it couldn’t stomach it.

finally struggling free from his spot of horror, john began to step away, but he realized in horror that the thing had noticed his movement. it tracked movement. 

“CARNAGE!” it bellowed, voice cracking. john froze again, panicking. would he meet the same fate? his heart dropped and his body tensed up as the thing ran closer and closer and closer and he’d closed his eyes and reached in his pocket preparing for death and

“NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooOoo,” it yowled. from behind his raised crucifix, he watched the thing contort and scream in agony. the horrible noise echoed through the forest. even after john lowered the crucifix, the creature still stumbled on its feet and wailed, before retreating back into the trees. 

john’s gaze followed him, his mouth agape in shock. he tried to find words to say, to ease him or explain what the HELL he just saw, but they all dried in his throat. instead, he just walked quickly away, never hesitating to look behind him. 

upon reaching the house and finding it locked, he went searching for a key (finding it in an old shed filled with animal bones and feces: most likely where the creature lived) and eventually he was finally unlocking the door. why was he praying that the key wouldn’t work? 

the second he stepped in, memories came flooding back, choking him with its pungent stench of bloodshed and cowardice.   
(YOU KILLED THEM, HOW COULD YOU?)  
he walked  
(THEY DIDN’T DESERVE TO DIE!!)  
past the coat hanger  
(THEY DID! THEY WERE SINNERS!)  
where father allred’s coat  
(THE PIG WAS BORN OUT OF WEDLOCK)  
still hung  
(AND YOU KNOW ALL ABOUT SINNING)  
and down the steps  
(DONT YOU)  
into the basement  
“michelle?!”

john looked up, horrified. he hadn’t heard that name in years. he shook his head. the forest does weird things to your mind. 

he felt eyes on him. he turned back. the basement didn’t feel right, no. she wasn’t down there. she was in the basement, then she escaped, and then...

the attic. 

he heard a door open, and hasty footsteps above his head. there she was. she was in the house. there was really no turning back now, was there?

this was it: the walk up and into the attic might be the last staircase he had to climb until the stairway to heaven. 

he hadn’t thought about death a lot until now. he’d lived through so much that in his mind, he’d convinced himself he was untouchable. he survived the exorcism of 1986 for a reason. he was able to get safely from one side of new york to the other during the early hours of the morning for a reason. so much torture on his mentality and his soul had happened for a reason, right? god had been generous and spared him. god liked him. god put him here for a reason.

he climbed up the stairs to the attic, dodging the mannequins and bursting through the door to meet amy face to face. correction: gaping hole to face would be more accurate. she looked worse than before. 

her body swayed as she turned to face him. she didn’t look human any longer. 

“my god,” john’s voice broke as he was overwhelmed by emotion. “what happened to you?”

amy’s head tilted. “DO YOU THINK MY FACE IS PRETTY?”

she was too far gone, wasn’t she? she probably wouldn’t make it out alive. but if he could JUST hold on to some sliver of hope, something that would make his redemption feel productive (something to make him feel less SELFISH)

“i have to finish what i started,” he repeated, now with more strength. 

“SHE IS MINE, PRIEST!” whatever was inside amy jeered, and john took a probably pretty stupid stance, flipped a stray hair out of his face, and chewed at his lip.


	22. RFWQAXIOUPRFXQW????

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> insignificant and dead

the lights were turned off in amy’s head. they’d been turned off for a few days now. maybe a few years. maybe they’d always been like this. 

the lights in amy’s head weren’t really lights; it just felt dark and cold suddenly. gary told her this was the Beyond, and that this was good: being in the Beyond meant she was strong and worthy, right? 

even while in the Beyond and seemingly disconnected from her flesh, she could still feel it seizing up in flame and the pulsating flares of pain surging throughout. there were times she was surprised she was still alive. 

she wished she could see what was going on out there: sometimes if she concentrated really really hard, amy could see out of her own eyes again, although it was more like watching through a cloudy window than being present. where do i go? 

can i reach out again? 

she tensed herself until the blackness around her turned a dark red and her forehead began to sting. a sudden rush of wind slammed against her and she could FEEL IT!!!! but then her stomach dropped and she felt herself going DOWN DOWN DOWNNNNN

am i going to hell? 

do i deserve to be in hell? 

WHOS THERE

hello? who...who is that?

WHO ARE YOU ARE YOU HERE TO TAKE ME

no...i can’t see you. 

i can’t see you. 

WHERE ARE YOU 

i don’t know, gary told me i was in the Beyond

GARY

THE BEYOND

yes

IS THAT WHERE I AM TOO?

I DIDNT THINK I WOULD DIE

I REALLY LOVED HIM, YOU KNOW

I REALLY REALLY DID

I DON’T THINK HE KNEW I WAS ALIVE

MAYBE IF I TRIED HARDER

IF I DID MORE FOR HIM

IF I DID WHAT HE ASKED

DID WHAT HE TOLD ME

I WOULDNT BE HERE

DO YOU THINK WERE DEAD

no, i know that i’m not dead   
i’m only seventeen 

i cant die until im old

i cant die

I WAS ONLY TWENTY FIVE

oh

im sorry

AM I DEAD

AM I

DEAD

I DONT WANT TO BE DEAD

BUT I THINK I AM

I CANT LEAVE

where are you? maybe i can help?

THE CLOSET

HE PUT ME IN THE CLOSET

i’m sorry

being dead can’t be that bad

you don’t feel the pains  
the voices  
you dont feel anything  
and you’re just air  
insignificant and invisible  
just like when you’re asleep

I DONT WANT TO BE DEAD

PLEASE

NO

I CANT BE INSIGNIFICANT

I NEED SOMEONE

ANYONE

SOMEBODY AT ALL

CAN YOU TALK

i havent tried

FIGHT IT.

what?

FIGHT BACK FIGHT BACK FIGHT BACK FIGHT BACK FIGHT BACK AMY FIGHT IT FIGHT IT FIGHT IT AMY FIGHT IT


	23. NEW HAVEN, CT. 1987

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MY WORLD IS FALLING APART AROUND ME; IT’S BEAUTIFUL

amy’s behavior was even more bizarre now: instead of screaming and crying on the floor and thumping around, she’d begun to mutilate herself and grow violent, beginning with the removal of thick chunks of her dying hair and, more importantly, she started to run towards him at full speed, way too fast for a malnourished child. she’d charge at him and he’d have to thrust the crucifix at her, and its holy glow would send her staggering in pain. it was so much easier when she was tied down. 

(walking up the attic stairs)  
(or was it the basement)  
(it was cold down there)  
(UP THERE)  
(DO YOU REMEMBER ME?)  
(MAYBE FROM A DREAM)

he’d done this before. there’d be no problems. if there was a god i’d look him in the eyes every day. in the mirror. and say

im not afraid of you

im really not

not in the same way im afraid of clowns  
or spiders  
or things in the dark ill never understand

i am god and i do not fear myself. 

WHERE WAS THIS COMING FROM  
THESE THOUGHTS ARE NOT MY OWNNNNNN

“i’m not afraid of you,” john’s voice quivered in what he at first thought was fear, but it grew into a laugh. “i’m not!” 

is that how this worked? 

last time, he ran. it wouldn’t happen again. 

john looked at his hands, going white from clenching the cross too tightly. this was the same crucifix that father allred was holding. they found him still clutching it when he died. would the police find HIM clutching it when HE died, too?

he shook his head. he knew he wouldn’t die. 

a hand shot from amy’s face, spraying blood in droplets across the attic. its fingers twitched dramatically and its arm twisted, as if reaching for something. reaching for the light, he thought. it didn’t scare him. he’d seen worse. it only scared him when it grabbed him around the neck, squeezing and squeezing until his head popped clean off. it made a sound as it hit the floor, he was vaguely aware of that. and he saw the demons again. they were as horrible as he remembered. 

but no: he blinked and amy was slouched, her arms swinging limply and her matted hair covering her lack of a face. there was no hand, and there was a head on john’s neck, but he felt eyes on him still. 

“where am i?” amy suddenly spoke: it wasn’t a demon’s voice. it sounded like her own. 

john felt relief cross over him. “amy? are you alright?” 

“where’s my mother? who are you?” 

john didn’t say anything. 

“WHERE’S MY MOTHER?!” 

amy’s shaky hands went up to her face. then she understood.

“I CANT LIVE LIKE THISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS”

amy swung her body from left to right, the cry forced from her throat raw and horrible, before turning and slamming her body weight into the attic’s window. 

john recoiled in fear and shielded his face from the glass shards that shot like arrows, but soon amy was gone and the attic was quiet and bloody. 

immediately, john bolted downstairs. he had to find amy and put an end to this. 

john saw the shotgun on the ground, with a singular bullet next to it. it was too convenient. 

REH LLIK

the words in blood read. 

KILL HER

the forest does weird things to your mind. 

after a struggle, john loaded the gun and went to find her. he’d gotten out alive. the demon wasn’t out, was it? 

was THAT truly the demon he needed to drive away? 

he walked outside. the forest was quieter. he walked quickly, the gun held tight to his chest. his heart pounded in tune with his hasty steps. he felt this couldn’t get any worse. 

he saw his car ahead and gratefully broke into a desperate run. he hadn’t run towards anything with this much relief in so long. 

the pale creature beat him to his car. it ran at him. he stared at it like a deer caught in headlights, like how he stared as amy began to float a year ago from yesterday, like how rogelio stared when he told him he was leaving. it ran at him and suddenly he couldn’t find his crucifix so he panicked and pointed the gun and pulled the trigger it wasn’t supposed to happen like this i didn’t know it was going to fire

IT STRUCK MICHAEL IN THE SHOULDER. FINALLY, A PAIN HE COULD feel. he felt this pain for himself. NOBODY ELSE YOU BELONG he was free. 

the man had looked horrified. was he that evil? he shuddered. he was running on all fours.

he was so tired, so shaky...the kind of shaky you get when you’re really hungry. but this was an amplified hunger. one that couldn’t be satiated with anything other than death. this was starvation. 

but he was free. 

the pain returned, causing him to let out a sudden wail of anguish. he tried to stand up but couldn’t, so he simply limped away. it was like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. he finally felt like himself again. he was finally michael again. he could go home! he could

something hard slammed into michael’s body, propelling him off of his feet and flattening him across the asphalt. little rocks dug into his thin flesh, being driven inwards with so much force some sharper ones lodged into his bones and stayed nestled. his spine snapped first. 

the second group of wheels came a few seconds later, just as michael had tried to get up.  
it was only then that his neck snapped. 

he was sprawled in such a way that the iron grip of the tires tore him in half, separating flesh from flesh and bone from bone, removing in every vulgar detail what MALPHAS had done to him. 

with nothing more remaining than a speed-bump and a splatter of blood across john’s car, michael davies’s body was flattened into the road and left behind like nothing less than roadkill. 

john got in his car and drove.

there sure are a lot of cornfields

its 7 in the morning  
i got here at midnight  
im so exhausted

no, seriously: nobody should need this much corn  
when’s the last time i had corn  
i don’t really like corn

wait

since when is THAT there?

there was DEFINITELY NOT A CORNFIELD HERE. 

weird

john hastily pulled out the collar and left it in his car as he pulled into the parking lot of the apartment building, wiped a chunk of stray michael-brains off of him

7:05 am

and stepped out of his car. his uncle’s pickup wasn’t anywhere to be seen

maybe im not looking hard enough

no there it is

his heart soared in relief. uncle jo would always stay the same to john. 

he walked in. some people were leaving for work already, only sparing him tired glances as he walked past them with unkempt hair and circles deeper and darker than the ocean of his eyes. he just needed to see his uncle. he’d take care of him. he promised he would. 

he felt, in a way, like his arc was over. he was aware of this conclusion. he felt peace. he didn’t find amy, and doubted he will, but he realized with a twisted notion that this wasn’t about amy. this was about him finally coming to peace WITH amy. he felt a little guilty, sure, and amy was most likely dead from that jump, but he felt like he’d done the right thing. he had to do the right thing. 

he got in the elevator and  
(didn’t notice anyone enter behind him)  
pressed the button for the seventh floor before another hand startled him enough to gasp.

“did i scare you?” 

john looked behind him, and there stood a man with red hair and brown eyes. freckles dotted across his face, and his hair hung down limply in strands. he smiled, revealing pointy, protruding canines. john smiled back.

“no, you’re, uh, fine. just jumpy.” 

“i see.”

john stepped back. so did the other man. 

“what’s your name?” 

“uh...it’s john.” 

“john. i see.”

“why are you here?” 

“to visit my uncle. you?”

“oh. i was visiting one of my brothers.” 

“your brothers live here? supportive family.” 

“ah, they’re not exactly my brothers, no. but they are just like family.”

“nice. i’ve been trying to hold onto family. it...it’s something taken for granted. everyone deserves a family.” 

“i see...that’s a sweet sentiment. but, oh, you forgot to push a button so we are-”

“oh shi- shoot. sorry!” john quickly pressed a button. 

“unless you want to go nowhere.” 

“not going nowhere today,” john told the man proudly. excitement and the crave of normality itched in his stomach. “i need to visit my uncle.” 

he stepped out of the elevator into the seventh floor. he was vaguely aware of footsteps behind him, and only noticed them as he was approaching the door and waiting to knock. 

“oh, john?” 

john looked up. he could only be so nice for so long. why was this guy so interested in talking? some people are just like that. 

“do you...have the right apartment?” 

he quickly checked. 

“7b. this is the place.” 

the man looked...excited? no, anxious. his eyes were hard to read. 

“that apartment’s been vacant for a week or so now.”

“what? no.” 

“i’m..so sorry.” 

“why?” 

“he lived by himself, right? short man with glasses?”

“oh god.”

“i...don’t know exactly what happened—i’m the landlord, you see—and i was going to see how he was doing because i try to be friendly-”

“oh god.”

“but he was passed out on the floor beside the phone and i-”

“oh m-my god he’s-”

“there wasn’t anything i could do. i’m terribly sorry.” 

“i n-need to go. i need to go i need to go im sorry i need to I-I I NEED TO GO”

gary watched him leave and smiled a horrible smile.


	24. NEW HAVEN, CT. 1987

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I SHOOK HANDS WITH THE DEVIL
> 
> I LOOKED HIM IN THE EYE
> 
> HE LOOKED LIKE A L̶̜͈̹̋̀̏͗̏́̒̋ͅÒ̶̩̲̬͖̒̎̉̃͜N̶̜͍̗͈͎̼̻͆̊̔̀͆͝ͅG̵̞͕͓̦̜̼̝̩̼̯̎͑͊̅͘ ̶̢͔̣̀̽͋͆͘̕͠L̸̨̧̢͔͓̣̩̞̜̱͐̄̎̀͛̀͘͝O̷̧͈͖͍̞̠̤̐͊͗Ş̸̡̛̠̻͚̼͕͈̳̣͈̃͛̃̐̂̑̉͘T̸̹̜̆̑͒̚ ̶̘͔͕̬̹̫̠̭͘F̴͇͓͔̻̪̙̤̜̈̋͠R̴̛͉̼̹͒̋̀̇̒͒͝͠Ì̷͚̱̽͜͠Ȇ̵̝̫̟̮̭̻̬͈̦̣͜N̴̢̦̘̠̩͐̈́͐͂̾͛̍͗̓D̶̡̛͎̗̱͕͚̳̓́̈́̎̋͒̒̑͐̚

“i’m trying, okay?!” john screamed upwards, his neck erupting in flares as he craned it towards the sky. it was gray and cloudy; still early, but expecting rain. the shock of the death hadn’t set in until now, burying itself underneath his skin with sharp-hooked claws and demon eyes and its decaying stink. grief was evil and harsh, and followed him everywhere like a dog loyal for the wrong reasons. 

“i’m trying my hardest! i always have!” 

the gray hue of the merciless sky stared back. pure rage coursed through him, and his voice hurt from straining it to yell. 

“and you j-just- you just WATCH me! you watch me suffer!” 

the clouds were fluffy and light. the sun was just rising. it was so peaceful, happy almost. god was happy with what he had done. he knew that dark and light needed to coexist but...why did the light lie so much? 

then the hopeless thought crossed his mind: was the dark too powerful? or was the light not real? 

was that god watching over him? or watching him suffer, a small smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. his eyes welled with tears of frustration. 

“why?!” john yelled, stupidly. he waited for an answer. “why me?! what did i do?”

the rows and rows of corn whispered secrets and laughed to themselves. they knew he was crazy. 

it was selfish to think, but he knew he didn’t deserve this. he was doing fine for so long. so long...and he’d tried to make it better, right? god saw that, surely. if he saw every mistake he’d made he’d have to know he was trying. 

he was so tired. 

the rain had just started. was this tears? he hoped god felt bad for him. but then it hit him: he was so...insignificant. out of the millions of people in the world, why should god even look down at him? 

god doesn’t care about you, john. he never did. he never will. 

and john didn’t know if he believed in god anymore. but he knew for sure he believed in the devil. 

there is no god up there, in those swirling clouds. there’s nothing. but there is definitely a hell below him. he’d seen it himself. 

“prove yourself, then! prove you exist!”

something overtook john, and he rose from his knees and thrust his arms out. raindrops got in his eyes and stung with a mild twinge but nothing else. 

“KILL ME NOW! DO SOMETHING, ANYTHING! TELL ME I’M NOT ALONE!” 

he waited.

and waited. 

and waited. 

not one growl of thunder, not one flash of lightning. nothing but clouds. 

he expected the clouds to part and the sun to shine through in holy glory, extend a hand and free him from his bondage, but nothing. NOTHING. 

“you’re nothing,” he whispered. he wasn’t sure if it was towards himself or the sky. 

“hello, john. it’s nice to finally meet you.” 

john jumped and turned around. the corn parted to show a man.

“who- wh- what do you want? i-i...where did you come from?” 

“i want to know if you’re lost.” 

john looked up at the sky, then back to the man. his ginger hair was plastered to his forehead, as if he’d been waiting in the rain for a while. 

“no. no i’m not,” john looked away. “you can go now, i just need a minute.”

“you look lost,” the corn giggled as the other man broke through. the scarecrow was the only thing that stood between them. 

“i’m not-” john cut himself off. “i’m not lost. i know where i am. go away.” 

“you don’t need to lose sense of where you are to be lost,” thunder rumbled. “you’ve been lost for a while. i know that look in your eye.” 

“go away.” 

“do you know me?” 

“from the elevator, yes. why?” 

“maybe from...a dream?” 

the hair on the back of john’s neck stood up, causing him to rise with it. he looked over his shoulder. 

“you have been alone for too long, john. you’ve abandoned everything and everyone you’ve known and...” the man put his arms out and smiled. “and look where that got you.” 

john narrowed his eyes, biting back tears. “i told you to go away.” 

“you have suffered and bled for nothing. no. not...not nothing: nothing is too meek of a punishment for you. you suffered for more suffering.” 

“WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT ME?” john stood up. his voice trembled from when he yelled, and the man widened his eyes, but that was all. “I TOLD YOU I DON’T KNOW YOU SO PISS OFF!” 

the other man drew in a breath, hesitated, and shut his mouth. john was horrified with himself. he looked down at his hands. there was still the faint stain of blood on his sleeves. michael’s blood. amy’s blood. father allred’s blood. he’d shed so much blood. he was a monster. 

“john-”

“don’t come near me,” he hissed coldly. the other man, interestingly enough, smiled. 

“oh john...you know if you yell nobody will hear you.” 

john backed up. the man passed the scarecrow, who grinned at the situation. 

“what the hell do you want from me?” john found the courage to take a step forward. a raindrop ran from his scalp to his forehead. 

“i can bring you salvation. isn’t that what you want?” 

“go away!” john cried out again, but his voice was weak. 

“you poor poor thing. you spent a lifetime dedicated to something you have no proof of. you prayed and prayed and sure: you may get into heaven, but the experience of hell...it’s worth no seat in the clouds. isn’t that right?” 

john couldn’t find the strength to fight back anymore. it was like he was succumbing to sleep. he’d fight to stay awake but his eyelids were stronger. he felt the walls of himself closing in and flipping inside out. 

he nodded, defeated. 

the rain continued. it didn’t thicken, it didn’t thin: it just continued. 

“god doesn’t care about you.” 

“i have nothing.” 

“i can give you something.” 

he smiled so...sweetly. john saw no ill will behind his intents. he softened a bit, but was still cautious. 

he stepped closer. the man stayed where he was. 

he stepped closer.

again?

again?

again?

he let himself be enveloped in the arms of a stranger and sunk to the wet slimy grass. 

the tears finally started then. the man sank with him. he didn’t get as drenched in rain as john did, for some reason. maybe he was getting soaked in his own tears. he felt so hopeless but so...warm in this man’s arms. so safe. he was finally safe. 

“there, there...” he felt hands stroking the back of his head. “it’s been hard, hasn’t it? you haven’t made it easy for yourself.” 

john couldn’t stop weeping. his body trembled. he wanted to run away and back to his car but he couldn’t risk escaping the safety. he just continued to cry. 

“you’re all alone now. you’ve separated yourself from your family. and now they’re all dead, aren’t they?” 

“s-so is it m-my fault?” 

unbeknownst to john, he smiled. “oh, no. not at all. god just...hates you.”

“he hates who you are. inside and out.” 

“that makes sense now, doesn’t it?” 

“it does,” john finally answered, his voice nasally from congestion. 

the man chuckled. john felt it in his chest. “it does!” he repeated john’s words. “there is too much suffering in the world for there to be a god. good is caused by something...more present.” 

“i can give you the gift of family, john.” 

john didn’t respond. so weak...so...exhausted. he couldn’t find the strength to fight back. 

“let us go, john. i can give you something warmer to change into...and you can meet my brothers and sisters.” 

“okay.” 

“good. good. come along. stay close.” gary chuckled to himself. the same familiar adrenaline coursed throughout him, and he shook his head. “you can finally meet your new family.” 

so john ward, reduced to a ragdoll, followed his new family to his new home. he would suffer no longer. 

so be it.


	25. ACT 3: I KNOW IT’S OVER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> february of 1988

the excerpts to be shown were discovered at the sight of the “New Haven Torch” that took place at some point in 1987. the author of these works is unknown.

the fragments weren’t released to the public until a few months after their discovery.

some believe there may be more entries inside the wreckage, and (as of this month) authorities were in the process of clearing out the wreckage. due to hazardous discoveries, however, progress has halted. 

the recovered entries are from october-december of 1987, further proving the theory of more possible entries since the torch happened sometime in late december. 

666


	26. NEW HAVEN, CT. 1987

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [THE AMBIGUITY OF THE NEW HAVEN TORCH: A MEMORABILIA. PROVIDED BY CONNECTICUT HISTORICAL SOCIETY.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note 1 out of the 5 recovered entries by an unknown individual who was most likely involved in the cult causing the New Haven Torch.

sept. 2[9]th 1987

i’m definitely not a writing person. writing is weird and not that fun and it’s so much easier to just call someone. but i feel a need to keep this log in my late uncle’s tackle box because i’m fading. i’m sure of it. my memories are fading away and i want to remember something other than this place. 

gary’s gary. he’s doing fine. he’s very kind to me and gives me a lot of attention. he calls me lamb which makes me feel special. i really think that gary is a good person even if he doesn’t want to show it all the time. 

i’m hiding the notes from gary. i don’t want him to find out. i feel like i can trust him but i also feel he’ll get upset with me. he’s already upset i sit in the dark closet and think, but i can’t help but transcend when i’m in there. it helps me think. it’s better then attending gary’s meetings anyway. i still say no when he asks if i want to attend and he says he understands that but the LOOKS he give me afterwards! it makes me feel like i’m doing something wrong. maybe i will go?


	27. NEW HAVEN, CT. 1987

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [AMBIGUITY OF THE NEW HAVEN TORCH: A MEMORABILIA. PROVIDED BY CONNECTICUT HISTORICAL SOCIETY.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note 2 out of the 5 recovered entries by an unknown individual who was most likely involved in the cult causing the New Haven Torch.

oct. 5th, 1987

in 1981—i was probably 21 or so—my uncle took me to a club. i don’t remember how we got in or what it was called but it was very far from uncle jo’s. he wanted to take me because he used to work and live up in manhattan and he frequented this club or something. long, long drive. 

i don’t remember how i was let in there. i guess i just [???] and it [???], so i was let in because of his former occupation. he would dress in drag i wanted to write that because

i forgot my train of thought. 

-i didn’t get any drinks  
-did i?  
-no  
-the one drink

there was something in my drink i think because i didn’t...feel right after. i remember the lights and the music and the people everywhere it was so overwhelming and everything was so loud so loud i hid in the bathrooms because of what i saw out there. i don’t think anyone cared.

there was a glory hole in a few stalls over.

i was panic[k]ing and there was a glory hole...in operation next to me. it’s funny to me now, and nothing but.

that’s all i remember

gary was overwhelming to deal with today. ever since i started attending the meetings he’s been suffocating me. he’s even insisted on having meetings of his own. i always feel hollow and empty after gary leaves now. i feel like i’m falling apart and i just end up worse off by meeting with gary. i always try and throw up afterwards but can never i dont know why

i remember how everyone looked in the club that night: the lights distorted a lot of the faces and the music was too loud for anyone to notice me slamming my head with my fist but when i looked up everyone was the Devil. he was present among them all. that’s a good part of why i became a priest because [???]


	28. NEW HAVEN, CT. 1987

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [AMBIGUITY OF THE NEW HAVEN TORCH: A MEMORABILIA. PROVIDED BY CONNECTICUT HISTORICAL SOCIETY.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note 3 out of the 5 recovered entries by an unknown individual who was most likely involved in the cult causing the New Haven Torch.

oct. 12th, 1987

i left palmyra in 1975, when i was 16. lisa helped. i don’t know why i told my parents about it, though. i feel like i just didn’t want to live in a lie anymore. 

my mom beat me with a bible and my dad left the room. 

megan was asleep the whole time. she was only 6, i think. i knew it was dangerous but i needed to get out of there and get out of my body or fix it somehow because if i didn’t i felt like i’d end up killing myself or something. the weight of being wrong would have run me too far into the ground if i kept it hidden, i think. 

uncle jo picked me up late it was raining i think

he drove to palmyra from rochester and took me to his house and i felt so safe and calm. 

now i realize i felt that same way when i met gary, so that’s probably why i remember it so well. 

writing down my old memories has become my new experiences. i’ve FORGED memories for myself from the things i’ve experienced before. 

the problem is this: whenever i want to write down something on the page i always end up writing about gary. i’m always complaining about him when he’s done nothing wrong and i’m starting to think that i’m a horrible person. well, when i really think about it, what gary says makes a lot of sense: i’m better off here. he says that a lot. 

sometimes i’ll get paralysis in my bed. i wake up and i see the martin girl. she stands over my bed. she has no eyes but she watches me. 

i don’t sleep anymore and my brain feels loud


	29. NEW HAVEN, CT. 1987

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [AMBIGUITY OF THE NEW HAVEN TORCH: A MEMORABILIA. PROVIDED BY CONNECTICUT HISTORICAL SOCIETY.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note 4 out of the 5 recovered entries by an unknown individual who was most likely involved in the cult causing the New Haven Torch.

nov. 3rd, 1987

i find good memories resurface now more than the bad ones. i remember this one time i stole some of jo’s cigarettes and lit them on the stove because i didn’t have a lighter. it’s weird how my brain made me forget some of these things. i remember going to the store by myself for the first time, too. i thought i was so grown up for doing that. my uncle would be out on a date with stan and i’d sit at home doing nothing...i really miss that house. everything about it. there’s a house-shaped-hole in my heart thanks to rochester. 

the good memories live in that house., most of them: some of them live outside that emergency exit at the church i used to work at. i can’t remember much of that place, just that it was good. 

good memory: i threw a dead bird at a wall once. me and my friend (or hopefully-friend) found a bird outside of where we would talk. he wanted to bury it but i decided to throw it at a wall. oh god the smell was bad. we buried it afterwards. it wasn’t all bad. 

the meetings lately—group ones, not personal or secret ones—have shifted focus from a figure called malphas to a...scribble with an eye in the middle. i’m seeing eyes everywhere now. on the walls, written in wax, carved into skin...it’s strange. i don’t know how to respond to it. 

i can’t even hold a conversation with gary anymore because i know i’ll mess up and hurt him somehow...i miss home.


	30. NEW HAVEN, CT. 1987

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [AMBIGUITY OF THE NEW HAVEN TORCH: A MEMORABILIA. PROVIDED BY CONNECTICUT HISTORICAL SOCIETY.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note 5 out of the 5 recovered entries by an unknown individual who was most likely involved in the cult causing the New Haven Torch.

dec. 7th, 1987

i’ve written about him too much to the point it’s getting creepy, i think. but i really, really, really don’t want to forget him and what he was like. so, i’m writing it all down. again. 

he’s got black curly hair that flops over his face on one side because of the way it was parted. the back was probably to the base of his neck. i’m not sure if that’s correct, though...

soft quiet voice. i couldn’t hear what he was saying sometimes. he had an accent, and he said he was self-conscious of it but i thought it was soothing to listen to no matter how much he wanted to hide it. he was very broken.

i’m speaking about him like he’s dead and to be honest i’m about 30% sure he is: he was so sad. no, not just sad: he was just tired. a kind of tired that even sleep couldn’t quench. he was so tired all the time. i’m a little worried about him, now...

i’m sure he’s fine. he’s strong. i left him, though...i left him and said i’d never see him again. and why? WHY? it made sense in the moment, but i regret it now. i think i regret it. did i regret it before? 

i really don’t want to hurt him. he’s such a kind soul. he cared about me in a way that felt like i didn’t have to do anything in return. was he too selfless? or is the kind of love i’ve gotten used to not healthy? 

i don’t like to think about it. it just came to me now and i don’t know why it popped into my head but

i wrote a letter a while ago. haven’t been able to ship it. i really, REALLY don’t want gary to find it so it’s just sitting in the box with the other notes i’ve written. am i obsessed? 

i’ll send the letter out eventually. maybe i’ll give it in person...i’ve written about wanting to go back to my old life before, but i never had a concrete reason to until now: i need to apologize. 

i’ll talk to gary about it. i know he’ll be upset but i think it’d be best for both of us. i’ll try and convince him.


	31. NEW HAVEN, CT. 1987

he slipped through the halls quietly. he didn’t use the elevator. he hadn’t brought much to his apartment, but he took what he could. nostalgia crept behind him, acting as his shadow. 

he would escape today. 

gary would be mad, yes, but did he have to know? he didn’t, did he? 

it’s fine i can just slip out and nobody would notice oh nobody would notice at all

john held his shoes in one hand, his bag in the other. he wasn’t scared, he just...was waiting for the new. he couldn’t wait to sleep in his own bed again. maybe he’d get a job he’d like instead of being a priest. he’d worry about it later. he just wanted to sleep in his own bed and not his uncle’s. 

upon reaching the lobby of the complex, john gently put down his shoes and started to put them on, tying them as hastily as possible. 

gary watched. 

“good evening.” 

“oh sh- gary. o-oh hi gary. i was about to go for a walk, s-sorry, um...” 

john watched gary approach silently, trying to read any emotion off of his face to prepare him for what was to come. but nothing. concern, maybe. 

“it’s almost midnight.” 

“i know, gary.” 

“john, you’re a horrible liar. i know you’re trying to leave me.” 

“n-no!” john blurted. gary didn’t react. “no! n-no no no no i’m not trying to leave! i promise! i was just-”

“you took your shoes off. to make less noise-”

“-because everyone’s asleep and i didn’t-”

“you took them off to make less noise. because you thought i was asleep.” he took a step towards john. john stayed still. 

“you lied to me. you lied to my face.” 

“i-i’m sorry gary, i really am.” 

gary sighed. the room was silent. the silence and anticipation was worse than the actual ridiculing, john thought. 

maybe you’re just being a coward  
i trust gary, he’s good to me  
he’s yelling at you  
but i deserve it i tried to leave him  
you tried to leave him  
i tried to leave him

“i know you’re not really taking a walk.” 

“i’m-“ john cut himself off, trying to maintain his composure. “gary, i’m leaving.” 

gary’s face softened, to john’s surprise. 

“oh.” 

he had a slight look of knowing, which gave way to anger. 

“look, you’ve helped me so much. you’ve helped me get back on my feet and i’m...i’m really grateful for you and the family you gave me. but i...gary, i had a life. i still have a life. i need to do something with it and i didn’t until now.” 

“why are you leaving me?” gary’s voice was quiet, but john continued. 

“i can get help! i think i can! i tried to fix myself before and it didn’t work! but if i just talked to someone about this, got some treatment somehow maybe i-”

“but john, you’re...you’re crazy! you’re insane! i found you screaming at the clouds like a f-”

“i know i did and i know it was abrupt but there’s treatment for it!” 

“you’re not making any sense!” gary’s voice was breaking as he spoke. “you need this place, john! you need me!” 

“you-”

“you’ve had bad experience with mental professionals before john you TOLD ME THIS I THOUGHT I COULD TRUST YOU-”

“gary, i’m leaving. i’m not changing my mind.” 

though his voice wavered, he felt like gary wasn’t that intimidating anymore. he just seemed desperate. john realized that gary really had no reason to associate with him. he could have left him alone in the cornstalks. john would have been fine. 

“i’d gone through hell and back. i’d held it all in. i’m not-“ john cut himself off again, trying to find words. “i’m not insane. if i were, i’d insist on staying. but i want to get better, gary. i just think i should start elsewhere.” 

“but i’ve- but we’ve-”

“you gave me a home and you’ve given me a family and i’m so grateful for that. all of it. but i’m leaving.” 

“you are- i’m- but i’ve only wanted-”

john was silent. gary’s eyes were wide, and his face was contorted into a toothy frown. he looked almost cartoonish as he looked to john, quivering. 

john nodded his head in thanks and walked quickly to the door, almost surprised that gary was letting him go without too much of a fight. excitement clawed his stomach again, but a whimper from behind beckoned him back. 

“wait, john...i need a drink. you do, too.”

“gary i don’t-”

“you do. you’re shaking.”

“i’m not shaking.” 

“you are. look at your hand. how do you want it?” 

“uh, i don’t...i don’t know, i haven’t had alcohol in a while.” 

“oh, i see. i’ll just...”

john picked at the loose skin around his nails as gary prepared the drinks. he was anxious. not much time. will he notice? 

“what do you plan on doing when you get back?” 

john looked up. one drink was set aside. gary was adding...something to one and taking a good time doing it. anxiety pooled in john’s stomach like a heavy weight. 

maybe a drink WOULD help.

“uh, i’m- gonna get help. that’s what’d be best for me, right?” 

“yes, i suppose.” 

“i’m not staying in a psych ward if i can help it: medication would be nice. maybe just therapy. i’m not good with remembering to do things even if they’re part of a schedule.”

“okay.”

gary looked between the two drinks. he noticed the foam of the beer was much higher in one than the other, so he picked it up and set it down roughly to settle it. it worked. good. gary nodded. 

he knew john was watching him. 

“hey gary?” 

“yes?”

“they’re the same drink, right?” 

“yes, yes they are.” 

john brushed some hair out of his face. 

“uh, can i choose which one?”

gary chuckled to himself, setting the two drinks on the counter in front of john. “okay. here.” 

gary watched as john observed the drink as carefully as possible. his eyes jumped from drink to drink as john weighed his options. 

“what’s wrong? they’re the same drink.” 

“one of them has more foam.” 

gary smiled. “it was more shaken up, i guess.” 

john smiled, too. he knew what he was doing. “i’ll take this one.” 

gary feigned a smile. “oh, alright.” 

gary took the foaming one. john took it with little foam. 

they looked at each other with a mutual understanding. neither wanted to take the first sip, but both knew they won. 

finally, john raised his eyebrows, tilting the glass slightly towards gary with satisfaction in his eyes. gary noticed the chip missing from the rim of the glass and returned john’s smirk. 

“to salvation!” 

gary leaned forward to clink john’s glass. 

“to salvation.” 

they drank in silence. 

gary struck up conversation while john still drank. 

“do you think we’ll see each other again?” 

“yeah, yeah hopefully.” 

“are you...are you okay?” 

“yeah, i just...my head started hurting.”

“you’re not used to alcohol. that’s what it is.” 

“you’re fine, john.” 

“okay. i guess so. oh god wait hold on...” 

“are you alright? are you sure?” 

“yeah i just feel a little sick um...w-where’s the bathroom again?” 

“there’s not one down here.” 

“y-yes, there i-is i remember-”

“there’s not one down here,” gary repeated, his voice more stern. john looked at him, trying to process what was surely guaranteed to follow. 

gary couldn’t help the laugh that escaped as john’s eyes bulged in terror. he’d realized what was going on now, and he wobbled even in his seat. 

john didn’t really feel himself hit the ground. the room was spinning and swaying around him, and his ears were ringing so loudly it made him want to cry. a small whimper escaped his lips, along with a sudden strong nausea. 

gary knelt beside him, looking satisfied. all john could focus on was trying to keep breathing steadily, but he couldn’t get any air. he began to panic, and hyperventilation took over. then the spasms. then he was still. then, a few seconds later, his stomach cramped as the spasms started again. 

gary stood up, laughing. he was laughing like a monster in a movie, his eyes bulging wide in a crazed frenzy, drool running down his face. he kicked john to the nearby wall, screaming “WHY CAN’T YOU JUST DIE ALREADY?!” as he did. 

the blows to his stomach didn’t help his breathing, and john eventually just gave up trying. he didn’t want to, he really, really didn’t want to, but he knew he had no other choice, and before he knew it, the world had begun closing in  
NO I CANT DIE LIKE THIS NO NO NO NO NO NO N

gary didn’t notice when john had stopped writhing on the floor until he looked down. it scared him, but not because of remorse...it scared him how easy it was. 

he should’ve done it a long time ago. 

he squatted down and stared in wonder. the way his face was locked in a look of terror just...stuck with gary. the younger man looked enchanting. 

with a kind of sadistic awe, gary caressed the deceased’s face. a smile escaped him, and chills went down his spine. something was so tranquil and breathtaking about seeing death reflect in someone else’s eyes. he’d be guilty to admit that he found john attractive while he was alive, but...now was different. 

gary took a second to calm himself and bit his lip. 

“to salvation.” 

he gently picked up the corpse and began to embark to the top floor where the dumbwaiter system awaits.

sacrifice what you cling to, he thought and smiled.


	32. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IM LOSING MYSELF IM LOSING MYSELF IM LOSING MYSELF IM LOSING MYSLEF IM LOSIFN MYSLEF

the corpse of john ward hit the ground with a slight thud. gary knelt down slowly in front of it. he couldn’t help but stare in mystified wonder once again. he hadn’t been dead for more than...twenty minutes, now? he felt himself tremble a little in excitement. 

no discoloration or coldness had begun, he just looked shocked. he looked like he had gotten his picture taken, and his bewilderment had stayed, forever stuck, on the corpse. gary chuckled and tentatively brushed some of the body’s hair out of its face. oh, he looked BEAUTIFUL...

no, i can’t taint this gift. 

he shook his head and rose to light the candles, which sat in each corner of the altar room. he locked the door and lifted john’s body onto the altar. it sprawled in a strange way: he didn’t look like he did when he was sleeping. dead bodies don’t look like they’re sleeping. they just look dead. 

gary began, setting the materials down on the floor beside the altar where he knelt: a knife, a needle and thread, a spoon, funnily enough, and the two chalices. 

he lifted john’s hand, watching how limp it fell as he seized the wrist, and dug the knife into the flesh. it took a few seconds for the blood to drip out, but eventually he got a drop of blood into the chalice. 

he followed suit (only this time, he pricked his finger). now two drops of blood sat in the chalice. he bowed his head in respect for the UNSPEAKABLE and began, spreading his arms out to the side. 

“O Lord, powers UNSPEAKABLE, hear my prayer and accept the humble gift of your grateful servant.” 

gary picked up the knife again. he didn’t care about meticulousness at this step, so when he separated the eyelid from john’s eye, he worked crudely. he almost laughed when he saw how strange the body looked with fully exposed eyeballs. he held his tongue, however, and discarded the lids into the chalice. 

he was a wreck of confusion just LOOKING at the thing. it wasn’t john anymore. gary thought about this and a smile rose against his lips. 

dead bodies can’t move. dead bodies can’t fight back. 

he surprised himself with a gasp of glee, but he pursued the sacrifice in spite of his own interests. 

“i benevolently grant...the gift of sight.” 

a sense of familiarity set in as gary picked up the spoon and the knife. he’d done this before: tiffany, and amy, and many other women before this moment. it was special...almost like the meetings before, when john was still alive, but it was colder and quieter then. this was exciting. 

dead bodies can’t move. dead bodies can’t fight back. 

gary smiled and began to sever the optic nerve from the skull. it wasn’t hard; again, he’d done this countless times before. he repeated the process and soon had two beautiful blue eyes sitting in his palm. 

he placed them into the second chalice. 

“may the vision of the blessed creation of thou be taken in death, and let my plea for your mercy come unto thy holy ears. O Lord, POWERS UNSPEAKABLE, i am thy lamb. may thy kindness beseech my tainted blood from sin.” 

taking the knife, he shakily put the blade to the forehead of the deceased and dragged it into the skin. it didn’t leak much blood.

at this point, gary was forced to look into the eyes of his eve. the creation of sin had begun long ago, back in october. john had told him his secrets and gary didn’t want to admit he found john’s...identity fine. there was nothing wrong with it. it was very attractive in a way, even. 

john never seemed interested, but john didn’t show much emotion, so he couldn’t be sure...

he remembered looking into john’s clouded blue eyes, seeing nothing in them but his own reflection... 

their relations weren’t ideal. john had begun to cling. gary didn’t like that, but john was all he had left. he hadn’t WANTED to murder him, but...he just didn’t want to lose him. 

he closed his eyes and hoisted the body towards his face, burying his nose in john’s hair to breathe his sent. decomposition hadn’t started yet; he doesn’t smell like rotting. he smells like john. 

through lidded eyes, he stared into the gaping holes devoid of any emotion; any thoughts. if he didn’t look dead then, gary wasn’t sure he’d ever look deader than this. though, something about the way he could see too much unnerved him. the muscle and blood and pus and god-knows-what reminded him that this was once human and he didn’t want to think that. 

he took the needle and, after struggling through a shaky hand, lead the thin string through the head of the needle. 

quite a sight to behold: the sawing at the eyelid was present around the wound, and the pattern of piercing down under the brow-bone, pulling the thread through, and pulling up just above the cheekbone. skin was surprisingly stretchy, and once he was done he leaned back to study his work. 

see, is that anything to be afraid of, gary? the holes look funny now: they look so wrinkly and the face looks droopy. you did a horrible job. i don’t think anyone minds though...it’s just a dead body. and dead bodies don’t move, dead bodies don’t talk. 

he hacked at the thread with the knife (causing a tear in the skin as he did) and took his belongings with him. 

he didn’t want to look back because he knew the body slumped when he opened the door. 

and that was the last he would ever see of john ward.

well, a fully dead one, at least.


	33. NEW HAVEN, CT. 1987

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOUGARYLOVESYOU

“oh, it’s not a bother...” 

“i know that he...he...he needed to go. and i let him. he said he’d call when he got back but, oh! oh, he’s GONE!” 

he drew in a shaky breath and opened his eyes. 

he faced himself in the mirror and laughed. a few tears had actually fallen out of his eyes that time. it was starting to get more believable. he flashed himself a smile. his teeth glinted a perfect white. his eyebrows were neat and his pale skin was dashed artistically with freckles. his eyes were golden. his lips were plump and rouged. he sighed and moved away from the mirror to view his body. 

god carved him from perfect marble and took his time, it seemed. he led his hands down his body shoulders, gliding his fingertips down past his ribs and feeling them hit every groove. it was ORGASMIC

the record crackled in the background. gary enjoyed classical: he liked beethoven, debussy, chopin...anything that was beautiful and transcended normality. anything that reminded him of himself. 

Clair De Lune and its angelic tones serenaded the atmosphere, dancing on the waves of perfection. 

he lit a cigarette for himself as the piano began to roll into a crescendo, tumbling about in a way that made chaos seem beautiful. 

then the knock came. 

“come in,” gary called. he was disappointed that someone came to interrupt his evening. 

“i said come in.” 

“hello?” 

he stood up as Clair De Lune continued softly behind. tentatively. 

he opened the door. “i was-” 

he cursed under his breath. the record skipped a little as the song ended. 

he and the keys were left in silence. 

he picked it up by the keyring, observing in disgust. this was the third time that this happened. the third time this NIGHT. 

someone was playing a trick on him, surely. he’d set things straight. 

but how did they get JOHN’S keys, specifically? he knew what they looked like. he’d learned to recognize them from the times he’d taken them. probably thousands of times before. how long was she here for again? not his problem. 

gary had taken to burning the sacrifices’ belongings, including the keys to their apartments, to prevent anyone figuring out that they weren’t actually leaving without a trace. 

he hadn’t gotten to john’s apartment because he’d been scared to step foot in there, for some reason. he didn’t really know what he’d find. 

gary threw the keys on his bed and stopped the record. 

then the clink, and they were on the ground again. gary didn’t even jump this time. he was used to them falling off now. 

that’s it, he thought to himself, taking the keys. i’m going up there tonight. i have to. 

he quickly changed from his bathrobe and started up the stairs. apartment 7b. john had taken her uncle’s apartment. that pansy was easy to kill. so trusting. good practice for john’s poisoning, too. 

he was so proud of himself for pulling that off. 

once the elevator chimed, gary stepped out onto the seventh floor. nobody was here. nobody had been here for a while. he’d done this time and time again, so the walk to the vacant room didn’t feel anything special. 

but why did he hesitate when unlocking the door? 

he walked in and immediately noticed how thick the air was. for a room that had only been unoccupied for however long john had been dead, it felt as if it had always been like this. had john even lived here? how long was it? 

curiosity pulled him slowly in, and he wandered. he’d been in here countless times, of course...but this time he didn’t know WHY he was here. seeing it all...dusty...was unnerving. 

his body twitched from a sudden cold. he jolted and spun himself around. nothing. 

john’s bed was unmade. he sat down on it. it squeaked a little as his weight sank into the springs. he sighed, content. 

the window was open. there’s where the cold came from, gary explained to himself. he was untouchable. 

something about john’s disheveled bed was inviting. it was cold and uncomfortable; sleepless nights had been hosted so often in here. he could practically feel the heartache felt on this mattress and it made him feel a sick delight. 

he ended up falling asleep in the bed, unaware.


	34. NEW HAVEN, CT. 1987

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AND NOW I KNOW HOW JOAN OF ARC FELT

you don’t remember the first moment of awareness in a dream: just the big things that happened within. this dream wasn’t anything special at all...crashing haphazardly through the towering rows, the dry crunch and crackle as the leaves were disturbed under his slipping feet, the leaves whipping past his very eyes. it was only a dream, it was only a dream. 

he’d put his arms out now, trying to push the stalks away from his face, but this only resulted in him losing his footing somehow. down came his face, up came the mud. 

he lay there for a while, trying not to vomit. he couldn’t think of what it was exactly, but he’d just received horrible news. 

and it must’ve finally hit. 

he stared at the sky, the clouds whirling around in the early morning light, and the sun young and pale. it was beautiful, and it disgusted him. 

he found it hard to believe someone was up there. he was furious. 

it was selfish to even dream of thinking, but he didn’t care anymore. he’d pushed it all down, all below the surface. the hospitals, the exorcisms, the things he’d seen behind his eyelids...it was all too much to be spilling out at this moment. 

he opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. 

he rubbed some mud out of his eyes.

he was confused: he knew this room. this is my room! i’m back! i’m back! 

he saw himself walk in the door. it was strange feeling fear twinge in his heart upon practically seeing his reflection. 

he didn’t move until he came closer. he saw himself say a few words, but he didn’t respond. anxiety sat like a rock in his stomach. 

don’t touch me why is he coming closer i should go but no he loves me right  
right  
right  
right  
right  
right  
right  
RIGHT  
RIGHT  
RIGHT  
RIGHT   
RIGHT  
RIGHT  
RIGHT  
RIGHT  
RIGHT  
RIGHT  
RIGHT!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!???!!?!!!!!!!?????  
I KNOW SO MUCH ABOUT YOU, JOHN.  
I AM ALL THAT YOU HAVE  
I AM ALL THAT YOU NEED  
YOU ARE GOING CRAZY  
THAT’S RIGHT  
YOU’RE RIGHT  
YOU ARE! 

HOW DOES IT FEEL, TO WATCH YOURSELF SWIRL INTO THE ABYSS?

THERE’S NOTHING TO HOLD ONTO  
THERE’S NO OTHER OPTION BUT DOWN  
THERE WILL BE NOBODY AT THE END OF THE WORLD EXCEPT ME  
THERE IS NOTHING IN THE ABYSS BUT ME  
I AM ETERNAL  
I RISE FROM THE DUST

I

A  
M

Y  
O  
U  
R

G

O 

D 

Y  
O  
U

F   
U   
C   
K  
I   
N 

G

W

O

R  
T  
H

L  
E  
S  
S

F  
A  
G  
G  
O  
T

AND YOU HAVE forsaken me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

look at yourself. take a good long look. 

your body curves like it was sculpted on a pottery wheel  
your eyelashes are long and wispy like the legs of a spider  
you are crafted from ALL THINGS BEAUTIFUL  
and you’re trying to destroy it.

you forsake your own beauty, michelle.

is your femininity something you feel the need to hide?

it is a gift from GOD, michelle!  
a gift from GOD!

you are all alone. you always have been.   
run home; run home!   
but you won’t find a god in your childhood closet.  
there is no god in palmyra, michelle.

bow to me

he woke up with a whimper, which quickly turned into a sigh of relief. it was still dark in john’s room. he went to get up, go back downstairs to his apartment, and sleep peacefully, but he didn’t realize until he attempted to rise that HE COULDN’T MOVE. 

it was as if a heavy object had crashed onto him, stunning him permanently and pressing him into the mattress. he couldn’t feel anything from his shoulders down. any attempt at movement would fail. 

he began to panic when something struck him: was he dead? no! no, he couldn’t be. he was still conscious. but he couldn’t move. he couldn’t talk. he was reduced to nothing but a rotting sack of bones.

he whimpered, surprised at the fact it made a noise. it’s okay, he thought to himself. it’s okay...

dead bodies can’t move...

“...dead bodies can’t talk.” 

gary’s heart jumped into his throat as he heard the voice. god, was it awful: it sounded as if the vocal chords were overworked and worn-down. the voice was whispery and low, almost a mumble.

gary looked frantically around the room until his eyes fixed on a point of movement behind the closed door. a hunched figure stood, hair messy and silhouette unstable, in the dark. its body swayed with each shaky, moaning breath, and the hollow tap of liquid hitting the floor resonated in his mind. he wanted to run away, but he couldn’t. 

“thaaaaat’s right,” the figure choked, its head craning unnaturally to face his paralyzed form. “diiiid you forget about meeee?” 

gary tried to shake his head, but he couldn’t. he could only let out a whimper. 

whoever was in the corner laughed, dry and brittle and dead. it must’ve taken a step closer; gary could hear its unsteady footstep falter as it did. 

“you can throw me asideeeeeeee againnn...if you waaaaaaaaant.” 

gary tried to move a finger, a toe, a hair on his entire GODDAMN BODY, but no...nothing. he felt tears well in his eyes as he began to panic. the voice got closer until it became almost recognizable, so close to breaking the water’s surface but pulling back down just as it skimmed the top. he knew this woman, right? 

“that’s what you’re going to do because...” it paused with an inhuman croak, lurching over in the corner of gary’s eye to hack up a thick, bubbly, bloody foam with clots of blood and mucus and everything appetizing in the world. 

the gunk hit the ground with a splat. 

a rough inhale, and a low chuckle. 

“that’s what you’ve gotten away with, garyyyyyyyyy...” 

the figure stumbled down, grabbing the foot of the bed. gary tried to scream, but no sound broke the surface. 

the skin was pale, drawn in against the bones like a thin sheet drawn over a lumpy mattress. it was stretched around the eyes, where small but visibly botched punctures lay gaping. 

but the eyes...oh, GOD. the eyes. 

they were nothing but huge yawning mouths gazing back into the skull, chunks of muscle hanging, tattered, upon the top of the caves. it stumbled, almost gracefully, up onto the bed. 

gary finally let out a noise; something meant to be a scream but coming out a desperate yowl. 

whatever was on top of him cackled, a sound that honked and croaked and made every noise no living human should. it got closer to his face. he could smell alcohol on its breath. 

“ohhhhhhhhh garyyyyyyyyy you know that if you s-C-C-Creaaaamm nobody...nobody can hear youuuu. you told me thaaat.” 

“NO!” gary finally found his voice, but it sounded choked out. “NO! NO! GET OFF OF ME!” 

the thing wrapped its bony fingers around his neck and began to strangle him. he thrashed around, but the grip was stronger than he’d anticipated. the thing let out a squawking howl, hardly a laugh. 

“i aaaam your betrayyyerrrrrrrrrrrrr.” 

“NO! STOP! STOP! I’LL DO ANYTHING I’LL DO ANYTHING JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!” 

he thrashed himself awake, hurling himself into the closet door in the process. the dead laughter still hung in his mind. it was gone, though. for real. right? 

BEHIND YOU

he looked. nothing. 

he ran out of the room. he wasn’t used to this kind of...reawakening. these past ten years had just been find some woman who would trust him (an easier deed than expected), take what he wants from her and make her useful somehow, then get rid of her. he’d kept the missing persons posters posted around new haven when it would happen. he was surprised at how he’d never gotten caught. 

until now, at least. but was this really CAUGHT? 

burn it down

when he got to his room again, it was probably 5am. he locked the door behind him, finally feeling safe. 

he opened his eyes. something fell over in the bathroom. the gravely chuckle. 

his heart dropped. was there no getting rid of this thing? 

he opened a drawer and dug through the photos. so many women, but this one looked different. this one WAS different, actually. this was the first one he actually KILLED, no outside force needed. one of the whores actually killed HERSELF for HIM. it was lamentable at best. 

finally, towards the middle: michelle ward, aged 28, around 5’6 or 5’7. last seen morning september 21st, 1987 in new haven area, around orange street. 

he didn’t get the same rush he usually did, though. the thing was over his shoulder. 

“soooooo maaaannyyy...” 

the papers, which were separated into a messy stack on top of the dresser, were thrown off of it, scattering onto the floor. gary cursed loudly and desperately swatted at the voice before picking them up. 

he tried to shake the smell of rot and alcohol off of his consciousness, but the thing followed him around. EVERYWHERE. 

he was aware of it when he woke up. he could feel it stand outside the curtain while he took a shower, playfully swinging its legs. there would be clumps of its spit-up all over the complex (ESPECIALLY THE HOLY AREAS). it was there at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and it was there when he would try to sleep. for something with no eyes, it loved to watch. 

sometimes he’d wake up to it sitting on top of him, straddling his chest. it always stares, a small smile on its lips, head turned to the side and thick, phlegmy foam running down its chin. 

he wakes up with bruises and scratches on his neck, his inner thighs, his backside...too many, too many nights...

he was at his wit’s end, near tears. he figured he needed to do something about it, so he confronted it in the room it first appeared all those nights ago. 

“you’re talking to meeee?” 

“yes, i’m talking to y-you,” gary tried to steady his voice. no avail. 

“YOU’RE SPEAKING TO ME-EEEE!” it cut itself off with a harsh hack. gary subconsciously curled his nose in disgust. 

“i j-just want to know what i did. what did i do to deserve this?”

no reply.

“i’ve done nothing wrong! i’ve never even seen you in my life!” 

“i-ive...i’ve seen a lot of people. i-i have, true, it’s true! i’ll admit it! i have seen a lot of people! i don’t know you!”

“you know meee,” the voice gasped out. “you just don’t caaaaaaare about meee.” 

“i-i didn’t,” gary didn’t know WHAT he was saying. “i am speaking the truth: i didn’t care about you.” 

he found himself adjusting his position. 

“STOP! STOP!” he suddenly cried out, but he cut himself off with a digging of fingernails in his own skin. 

“i didn’t care about any of the 11 women i’ve had sexual or romantic relations with. not-NO! STOP! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?! IT’S NOT TRUE! IT’S NOT TRUE! HELP! HELP!”

“sayyyyy iiiit,” john dragged out, thick, bloody spit oozing from his mouth. this was the first time he’d seen gary cry. and he LOVED it.

“mary watts, age 21. penny johnson, age 19. olivia maddenfield, age 22. octavia white, age...” gary looked over at the empty corner, eyes wide and pleading. he shook his head, whimpering. the veins in his eye were red and his under-eyes swollen. he let out a cry of disgust when he was told to continue. he didn’t feel remorseful, no...just humiliated. 

“a-age 16. daisy borowsky, age 18, natalie smith, age 17. lindsay guttilla, age 25. julie welker, a-age 28. tiffany robinson, age 25, amy martin, age 17, m-michelle ward, age 28. i did horrible things to these women and do not give a single flying damn about where they went, how they died, or if they truly cared for me. i never have, i never will.” 

the broken laughter again. “gooood boyyyyy,” the voice cooed. gary had never felt more uncomfortable. he choked out a sob. 

he looked up. he wasn’t even in the vacant room anymore. no. he was in his room, sitting hunched over the stack of missing persons posters just like the week before, and there was A CROWD OF HIS BROTHERS AND SISTERS AROUND HIM. they were silent. gary watched as they exchanged looks of horror, looks of confusion, looks of...god knows what. the only normalcy in their gazes was how they looked at gary. he knew they thought he was insane. 

the voice came back. gary threw himself up in anger, stumbling over the people around him over the papers and into his furniture. he screamed at the source of the sound, tears scampering down his face. 

“you knoww the fiiiree exitsss are alllllllll bloooockeddd,” john said, almost in a sing-song way. “you did ‘em yourselfff.”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!! PLEASE!!! PLEASE I’LL DO ANYTHING OH GOD PLEASE HELP ME!!”

“they all knowww. they’ll go to the cops, right? that’s baaaaad.”

“I CAN’T FU-I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!” 

no matter how he thrashed around, shocking his followers into a corner and throwing things down with a clatter, the laughter never ceased. 

“burn it down, you rottin’ sack of bones.”


End file.
